Love and Twenty Six Adjectives
by nattylovesjordy
Summary: Sometimes, they just can't believe how lucky they are to have each other. A series of one-shots to showcase Booth, Brennan, and everything between them. B/B fluff, occasional angst, emotion, and typical ridiculousness between the duo will ensue.
1. Ardent

_**Author's Note:**_ _I've had this idea floating in my head for years. I'll try to be succinct: I've always wanted to write a series off of vocabulary words. The basic premise of that idea has been altered, as I will be writing off of/portraying random adjectives in alphabetical order. Styles, topics, timelines, and genres will change, but one thing will almost always be the same: this is a Booth/Brennan story. Sometimes it may focus more on one character, but it will almost always be fluffy B&B goodness. _

_I hope you will join me on this twenty-six chapter journey. Without further adieu, the first installment. Thanks for reading! ~ Natty_

**_Setting:_**_ Around the last scene of the S6 finale (The Change in the Game)._

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><p><strong>Ardent<br>**_Having, expressive of, or characterized by intense feeling; passionate; fervent: __an ardent vow; ardent love._

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><p>He wanted to tell her. He wanted to tell her everything that was going through his mind in that moment.<p>

He wanted to tell her how happy he was. He wanted to tell her how the two contractions and three words she admitted to him would forever change their lives, but that they made him feel like the luckiest man in the world. He wanted to think of every word in the alphabet to describe his excitement, and maybe make up a few of his own.

He wanted to tell her how certain he was. He heard her hesitation, knew she was weary of his reaction. He wanted to articulate for her how absolutely perfect this was and would be, if not to assure her, then to assure her that he was over-the-moon happy about it.

He wanted to apologize to her. He wanted to apologize for how big of a jerk he had been with the whole Hannah situation. He wanted to convey his regret for taking so long to act on his feelings for her. He wanted to say sorry for whatever reasons she had for being nervous to tell him.

He wanted to tell her how much he loves her. He wanted to tell her how he always knew. He wanted to tell her how crazy she makes him and how crazy he is about her. He wanted to explain how much she means to him. He wanted to tell her that he would be lost without her. He wanted to tell her that he wanted to kiss her.

He wanted to tell her how she makes him feel, and assure her that will never change. He wanted to tell her all the ways he plans on proving himself to her. He was exploding with plans for their future together and for their child, and was dying to tell her every last one.

He wanted to make her believe that he would never leave her, or their child. He needed her to know that he loves her more than anything and would do anything to keep from hurting her. He wanted to re-affirm that she is the only one for him.

But in that moment he knew simple words would work best. He could give her the long, passionate speech about his ardent feelings another time. In that moment, he simply promised, "I'm here."

And that was enough.

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><p>She had struggled to tell him. Even with his inadvertent reassurances about her best friend's child, she was still nervous about his response. But, a bigger part of her, the secretly excited part, was dying to tell him.<p>

After she told him her news, she wanted to say so much more. She wanted to tell him everything that was going through her mind in that moment. She wanted to share everything with him.

She wanted to express her happiness to him. She wanted to tell him that, while scared, she felt whole. She wanted to rattle off a bunch of big and little adjectives to explain the excitement forming in her stomach. Not literally, of course, but she knew he would understand.

She wanted to tell him all of her fears. She wanted to tell him why she didn't think she could be a proper mother so he would prove her wrong. She wanted to tell him about the microscopic part of her that felt unsure so he could change her mind.

She wanted to apologize for feeling uncertain, too, for some reason. She wanted to apologize for rejecting him outside of Sweets' office. She wanted to convey her guilt for constantly denying her feelings over the years and hurting him. She wanted to say sorry for being nervous about telling him, because she knew her fear was irrational the second she saw his smile.

She wanted to tell him that she loves him. She wanted to tell him, while irrational that he always knew, that she loves that he did. She wanted to tell him that she might not say it a lot, but that she does love him. She wanted to tell him that she loves that he accepts her for who she is, yet has always supported her to become a better person. She wanted to tell him how much she wanted him to kiss her.

She wanted to tell him how he makes her feel. She wanted to confess about how crazy he can drive her but that she would never exchange those moments between them. She wanted to tell him she wants a future with him, whatever it may hold.

She wanted to thank him, most of all. She wanted to tell him that he always knows what to say. She wanted to tell him that his one contraction and one simple word lifted all of the weight from her shoulders.

While she never had a problem articulating lengthy sentences, she wanted to mirror his simplicity. She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, saying "Thank you" into his chest.

And that was enough.


	2. Brash

_**Author's Note:**_ _I want to thank those of you who have added me to your list of favorite stories and story alerts. I'll admit that it was hard to convince myself to post this, and to continue posting, with only one review, but I hate leaving things unfinished and people did seem interested! I'd love to hear what you think thus far._

**_Setting**:**_**_ Not all of these will adhere to a particular episode or season. Instead, they take the basic dynamic between Booth and Brennan and put them in a situation I think of. This is one of those. There's no baby on the way. That's the important information._

_Thanks for reading! Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Brash<br>**_Hasty; rash; impetuous._

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><p>The second the thought popped into her mind, she knew it would be ridiculous. She stared just to the left of his lips, considering her plan of action. Would it be awkward? Would he be offended? Would it be crossing the line so clearly drawn in the sand? Her gaze was interrupted when he waved a hand in front of her face.<p>

"What?" He leaned his face a little closer to hers to fully gain her attention. "Earth to Bones, what's wrong?"

Taking a deep breath, she went for it. Reaching across the table, she muttered, "You have something…" Her index and middle finger lightly brushed the small spot of the apple pie's cinnamon-y filling from the center of his lip. "That's better," she replied, clearly uncomfortable. She mentally beat herself up for doing something so impetuous as she wiped the goop onto the napkin next to her finger.

What had gotten into her?

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><p>Her long day had finally ended at work and she knew exactly how she wanted to decompress. Without thinking about what he might be doing, she drove to Booth's apartment. It was a decision she hadn't thought out before she turned her signal on to head his way.<p>

She stopped at the store and picked up beer for him and wine for her. With these items in hand, she knocked on his door. She might have a key, but that was only as a precaution—she would never welcome herself in.

He heard him call "One sec," through the door, accompanied by the muffled sound of his footsteps. When he opened the door with money in hand, clad in a big hockey jersey, it was clear that he was not expecting her to show up on his doorstep.

Despite his budding confusion and surprise, he smiled. "Heya, Bones," he greeted. He saw the beer and wine, and asked in a cheery tone, "What brings you here?"

She had no answer, had not thought she would need one. They both stood in the doorway feeling a tad awkward. Her brain frantically searched for something to say. Her mind was consumed with pinpointing the exact moment when she had turned into an impulsive woman.

She heard men speaking in his apartment and everything clicked. "I'm sorry, I forgot you were going to have company."

He offered to have her come in, but she retreated with a "maybe some other time" and an excuse about having something to do. Her rash decision had clearly embarrassed her.

Booth closed the door and walked back into his empty apartment. It was the TV she heard—everyone had already left.

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><p>They were in danger and she would be damned if he was injured. Ignoring his instructions, she quietly veered away from the path they were walking together. It was dark in the warehouse, but she was still able to move quickly enough so Booth wouldn't notice soon enough. She stumbled over some metal scraps, but a few cuts were nothing in contrast to more serious injuries.<p>

She knew he would be angry with her hasty, dangerous, and irrational decision, but she needed to distract the person after them. She had enough faith in Booth to find her once she captured the predator's attention.

She got lucky, not that she would ever put it that way, and found the man after them. He didn't hear her coming, and with a well-placed roundhouse kick, she knocked him to his knees. Using a large rod she found when she stumbled, she hit him at the base of his skull.

Booth heard the struggle and, once he noticed she was missing, moved towards the sound. Her hypothesis of his reaction to her hastily made decision was correct, but they were both happy the other was safe.

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><p>A little under a month after the pie incident at the diner and she once more had an irrational urge. It made no sense to her, especially with how normal the scene was around her, but she had the unexplainable urge to <em>kiss<em> Booth regardless.

They were compiling paperwork on the case they wrapped up earlier that afternoon, exchanging notes and signing where needed. This was a regular occurrence for the pair, but what she was feeling was not.

Much like the last time, he caught her staring and literally snapped her attention back into focus. "What," he asked in a slight laugh. "I know I'm ruggedly handsome, but—"

Lacking complete control of her body, she leaned over and kissed him. It was a quick peck on the lips, and they both almost didn't believe it occurred.

She looked back at the paperwork, unable to move, let alone physically retreat. He blinked a few times before overcoming the shock.

Before she could mutter an apology, his lips were on hers, one hand on her back to bring her closer, the other tangled in her hair. Much like their first kiss under the mistletoe, her hands tugged on his tie, as he had no suit jacket on to take hold of.

Seely Booth had made Temperance Brennan a brash woman yet.


	3. Courageous

_**Author's Note:**_ _Brennan uses an Alex Karras quote in her dialogue. The original quote goes as follows: "It takes more courage to reveal insecurities than to hide them, more strength to relate to people than to dominate them, more 'manhood' to abide by thought-out principles rather than blind reflex. Toughness is in the soul and spirit, not the muscles and an immature mind."_

**_Setting:_**_ Eh, anytime after Hannah skadoodled? I think? Let us say... Nicely before the finale, for sure, but not ridiculously long after Hannah left? Booth isn't mad anymore. It's not really relevant to this! Goodness._

_**Fun Fact:** The site won't let me use the word "supercali-fragilistic-expialidocious" which is why I had to hyphenate it. Lame. It does not mean Booth is saying it all staggered. _

_**One Last Thing:** Thank you all for the reviews, story alerts, and story favorites! You keep them coming, and so will I! Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Courageous<br>**_One of the most important qualities of a good person.  
><strong>"<strong>Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, 'I will try again tomorrow.'**"**  
><em>_- Mary Anne Radmacher_

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><p>"Again? Really, Sweets?" Booth stood from the seat and moved to stand behind it, his hands resting on the back. "More child games?" Sweets smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but Booth threw his arms in the air and Sweets knew it was best to let him continue. Exasperated, Booth shook his head and tried to get the one other rational person in the room on his side. "Come on, Bones. This is ridiculous. Tell him it's ridiculous."<p>

Brennan smiled and Booth knew he was doomed. Now it was two against his one and he wouldn't be able to say no if she really asked. "I found it rather enlightening last time."

Sweets found this to be his perfect time to put his two cents in. "It started some very psychologically interesting lines of conversation between you two." Booth rolled his eyes at the memory of Brennan asking him to father his child and cringed. For someone who is supposed to be well-educated, Booth certainly found Sweets to be overly dense and oblivious at times. "I'm picking up on some tension from you, Agent Booth. I think this is exactly what you need."

Booth shook his head. "I beg to differ."

"I'll even let you break the rules. If you have a question about one of Dr. Brennan's answers, you may ask her to explain, but only once."

Booth was tempted at the prospect of breaking the rules of the nonsensical game, especially if Baby Sweets was the one who was forcing him to play. He sat back down and turned towards Brennan. "Alright, Bones."

Brennan cut him off before he could say his first word. "Don't call me that," she recited, thinking her nickname_ was_ his first word.

Booth looked at her confused. He thought that because she had stopped protesting it all those years ago that she was okay with him calling her Bones. "Wait, what?"

"That was the first thing that came to mind, Booth. Isn't that the purpose of this exercise," Brennan asked. Now she was confused, eyebrows furrowed and all.

Sweets watched Booth's shoulders relax. Because he knew better, Sweets deduced that Booth looked offended. "That wasn't my word, Bones." Sweets was right; Booth had been initially offended. Because of the confusion, Sweets let the inadvertent question slide. Booth leaned back in his seat and rubbed his hands together. If he had to play this game, he was going to make it interesting. He decided to start with a ridiculous word. "Supercali-fragilistic-expialidocious."

Sweets laughed at the confusion on Dr. Brennan's face, but composed himself before she glanced his way. She replied, "That's not the name of a bone, Booth." Both men chuckled at her answer. She looked between the two, confused by their laughter, and sighed, "I don't understand."

Booth shook his head and continued. If she seemed to be giving phrases instead of single words, he hoped she would complete his sentence and take a trip down memory lane with him. "Hot-blooded."

Brennan sat straighter in her seat and smiled. "Check it and see, I got a fever of a hundred and three." Booth was glad she remembered, especially that she remembered the happier memories related to the song over the less fortunate ones.

Sweets was clearly lost by her answer and decided she needed to abide by the set instructions so he could understand. "Dr. Brennan, one-worded answers, please."

Booth wanted to call Sweets a party pooper, but refrained. "Oink."

"Jasper," she answered. Both of the partner's memories retreated to the late night in the lab that Booth had given her the toy pig. A light blush kissed Brennan's cheeks, and Booth didn't fail to notice.

Again, Sweets did not understand the rapport between the two, but before he could ask, the rapid fire continued. "Squint."

"Wonder Woman." Sweets was left to chew on the dichotomy of the two things and nearly missed the next succession of words.

"Daffodils."

"Jupiter."

"Aliens."

"Hodgins."

Booth heard the subtle sigh in her voice, leading him to believe she was remembering when the two were buried alive. He felt that was his turning point to take the silly game to a more personal level and find out what she was really thinking. After gauging how she was feeling, he stated, "Maluku."

She breathed, "Sorry."

"Me," Booth asked. He braved himself for her answer, unsure of what she would say. She seemed receptive enough, but it was Brennan and she was known for her brash, verbal unpredictability.

Sweets, someone who rooted for the pair, leaned forward in his chair in anticipation of his own. The psychologist in him was glad that the air in his zone of truth had taken a serious turn and that the two were finally taking something seriously. But, the overexcited baby duck who wanted to see Mom and Dad get together was having a hard time restraining himself from cheering or something equally ridiculous.

She paused. She wasn't supposed to think, but the initial answer that sprung to mind was something she was not yet ready to share with Booth, let alone with Sweets in the room. "Courageous," she answered, using the first adjective that came to mind.

"Courageous? Why courageous," Booth asked, using his one real question.

Brennan shrugged, as if what she was about to say was unimportant or no big secret. "You are the most courageous person I know, Booth. You never give up and, even though life isn't always easy, you handle things well. For example, Rebecca doesn't let you see Parker enough, but instead of pulling him into the middle of a nasty custody battle with lawyers, you take what you can get and make it enough for your son. You never stop fighting, instead knowing simply when to step down for the moment.

"We face danger on the job everyday, and any lesser of a man wouldn't be able to do what you do. You remain professional in heated situations. You go the extra kilometer to bring forth justice, even when that means facing guns and death. It takes courage to willingly put yourself in danger daily for the greater good."

She paused to take a breath and Booth thought she was finished. Her words touched him. He even missed her use the wrong form of measurement. Before he could say anything, she started again. "It takes more courage to show insecurities than to hide them, and more strength to relate to people than to dominate them. You display both strength and courage, and I think it is what makes you such an upstanding father and man."

Booth cleared his throat. Honestly, he had no clue how to respond. Sweets, too, was quiet. Because of how forthcoming she was about him, he decided to take it a bit further. Just one more push and he would stop. "Hannah."

"Bitch," she practically spat, Angela style. Booth looked at her with wide eyes. He was both shocked by her answer and immensely guilty. Brennan once again shrugged. "She broke your heart after she promised me she wouldn't. That is inexcusable," she offered without anyone prompting her to.

"Sorry," Booth said, as an apology and his next word. The guilt was apparent in his tone and his body language.

She nodded. Remembering her friend's words from a long while ago, she reached over and laid her hand on his forearm. "I forgive you."

They held each other's gazes as Booth paused to let everything sink in. He cleared his throat. "Socks."

Completely seriously, in the oblivious-Brennan way, she replied, "Sex."

Now _that_ was an answer both men wanted to hear an explanation for… or not.


	4. Devious

_**Author's Note:**_ _Mwa-ha-ha-ha. By the way, I am a HUGE Packers fan so there was no pouting from me. Thanks again for feedback and following this story, and to **bookwormlady** for catching a mistake after I posted! Have any guesses for what the next adjective is? _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I may have forgotten to put it all of the other times, but I do not own the TV show Bones nor do I make any monetary profit from this story._

**_Setting:_**_ Another chapter where the B/B dynamic exists, but not particularly in the parameters of the seasons. Especially since it mentions the 2011 Super Bowl and I like to think it's something that could take place in any season, even though I prefer it in the earlier ones._

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><p><strong>Devious<br>**_Not straightforward; shifty; characterized by deceit; "shifty eyes."_

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><p>He was having the mother of all bad days, and after such a delightful day, too. Yesterday, he and Parker had introduced Bones to the world of football. Any other woman and he would have been annoyed, but he enjoyed explaining things to her. He enjoyed watching her and Parker high-five after touchdowns; it was something that he would remember forever. His favorite part, though, was probably watching her face light up with excitement when she understood what happened, and how he wanted to kiss her pout away when the Green Bay Packers officially beat the Pittsburg Steelers in Super Bowl XLV.<p>

But then he went to bed and woke up. He would pay anything for it to be yesterday again, even if it meant the cheese-headed fans still got to rub terrible towels in the other team's fans' faces.

Everything started when his boss called him pissed off about a missing file. In the wake of his boss' angry words, Booth shot out of bed to see if he had the file, which he had been fairly certain he didn't. Not only did his boxers not keep him warm in the freezing morning air, but it was dark and he stubbed his toe so hard on the corner of his dresser that it drew blood.

He made bloody toe-prints in his living room as he shivered and looked for the file, which he indeed did not have. Then his phone, which he had left in his bedroom, started ringing again. It was his boss calling to inform Booth that the file had been located.

Awake despite his reservations, he hobbled into the bathroom to find a Band-Aid. It had Spiderman on it, which was fine by Booth. When he flushed the toilet, it started overflowing. Any glimpse of a good day quickly vanished. He was already scheduled to go into work late, so he found his tools and got to work.

Even with the water turned off, some liquid escaped when he loosened the pipes, which he was prepared for. The additional thirty-two cents, however, he didn't expect. He rubbed his clean hand along his brow and made a mental note to kindly instruct Parker to tell him the next time he dropped something in the toilet.

Needing to wash up for work, he jumped into the shower, which wouldn't get hot and had no more of his favorite soap. He forgot a towel, so he was forced to run sopping wet into his bedroom to dry himself off.

Getting dressed went without a hitch, although not even his flashiest tie could make the day better. The heater in the SUV wouldn't work and all of his preset radio stations were erased, replaced by odd excuses for music.

When he got to work, both elevators were broken, so he had to run up an endless amount of stairs in his new, and very expensive suit. The second he entered his office seven people walked in and demanded their winnings from the Super Bowl pot. He sat at his desk only for the lever that raises and lowers his chair to break, forcing him to sit a solid foot and a half lower than usual.

He was swamped with paperwork and Bones wasn't there to simplify her results. Then he found a memo from Sweets that reminded Booth of his quarterly evaluation for later that day. Visiting Sweets with his partner by his side was barely bearable, but without her, and for one of these stupid evaluations, the appointment felt like hell.

The coffee he got from the break room afterwards was horrible, but that didn't make him any happier when he spilled the entire mug down the entire front of his body after some green agent rounded a corner too quickly. He got another cup, which made it back to his office, only to be spilled on the keyboard of his computer.

After cleaning the coffee from his desk and tie, it finally looked like he was going to get some paperwork done. His phone had other ideas, though. His office line, which doesn't have caller ID, kept ringing every two minutes. He picked it up every time because he was required to, only to be hung up on. A prankster or psycho serial killer would only make his day worse. An hour later, he was one phone call away from getting someone to trace the call when it stopped, interrupted by his cell phone's ringtone.

At first, he thought that a case might be a positive change in his day. He should have known better. It had started snowing since he got to work, which did not bode well with his broken heater situation. Once he picked Bones up, she managed to give him faulty directions that got them lost. _And_ she insisted on listening to the ugly radio stations.

The crime scene was obscenely muddy, which forced Booth into Hodgins' Squintsuit. Needless to say, he looked ridiculous because of how badly it did not fit. Fellow agents laughed, especially after he came back covered in mud from a fall.

By the time he and Bones were back in the subzero SUV, he was done. He reached his limit and curtly instructed her not to speak. True to character, she ignored his request. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the mattress."

He growled and clutched the steering wheel. "Bed, Bones. Wrong side of the bed." He looked over at her, hoping she would just leave it. Her eyebrows were raised in such a way as to get him to continue talking. He told her everything that had gone wrong with his day, from the wake-up call, various bathroom mishaps, car troubles, and coffee spills.

Booth was appalled when she started laughing. It partially made him angry, but part of him was relaxed by the sound. "Don't," he warned. She tried to control her laughter and looked out the window. She couldn't look at him and his coffee-stained attire without relapsing. Realization dawned on him. "You." He pointed at her and momentarily looked away from the road, which given his day, he probably shouldn't have done. "You changed my radio stations, didn't you."

She tried to look at him, but failed. Her denial sounded absolutely pathetic. He took it as confirmation and she shifted in her seat.

"I see your shifty eyes," he accused. She was so going to pay. He pulled over in front of the diner and turned to face her. He poked her sides to get her to speak.

"It was me! It was me," she confessed in a breathless fit of giggles. He eased up on the tickling, but she refused to offer up more information. Booth blackmailed her by tickling her harder, eliciting a squeal from her lips. "Booth! Uncle! Uncle!" After he stopped and gave her a pointed glare, she told him everything. "It was my fault the file was missing. I sent Ms. Wick over with the file on Friday evening, but she has been known to be irresponsible. After you were called, I was called and forced to call her. Apparently she got distracted in Dr. Sweets' office and forgot my clear instructions on where to put it.

"I was looking for my lipstick in your bathroom yesterday when my change purse came open and coins bounced off the counter. I knew I had seventeen quarters, twenty-two dimes, eight nickels, and approximately fifty cents in pennies, so I was able to calculate the money that fell in toilet. I thought it would go down the pipes without trouble.

"The other day when I was waiting for you to get us coffee, I tried to change the radio station and reset all of the channels on accident, so I took the opportunity to change them to mine. I may or may not have broken your chair when I was waiting for you in your office. It suddenly gave out on me, which was quite painful and surprising, but I thought I fixed it. Apparently, not well enough to hold someone of your stature."

She saw his blank face and felt the need to apologize, even though she found the situations quite entertaining. He reached out his hand. "Lemme see your phone." Confused, she obliged. When he saw the thirty-two outgoing calls to his office line, he shook his head and said, "You devious devil-woman," with a small disbelieving smirk. She had "butt-dialed" him thirty-two times. She was _definitely_ going to pay.


	5. Empirical

_**Author's Note:**_ _This is the first one I wrote and might be my favorite of the first five. Maybe it is tied with "Courageous," I'm not sure. I hope you enjoy it as well! Any guesses for F?_

**_Setting:_**_ Unnecessary, really. If you want to get technical, let's say AU after The Bone That Blew (S4E10), because Parker is in middle school, but that would mean the end of S6, and more, happened, and it did no__t in this._

**_Disclaimer**:**_**_ I wish Parker was my son, or little brother, but I own neither him nor the show. _

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><p><strong>Empirical<br>**_Derived from or guided by experience or experiment.  
><em>_The only way to know something._

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><p>Parker Booth sat at the dinning room table in his dad's apartment, attempting to finish his homework before the Flyers game started. Sixth grade was a lot different from fifth, and more times than not, Parker found himself working on homework when he was with his dad. Before middle school his mom always made him do it before he went to his dad's, but now that the homework load quadrupled, he often had to work on it during their weekends together.<p>

Sometimes, that meant Dr. Brennan would help him while she and Dad were working. She helped him understand photosynthesis for Life Science, phonics for English, and was able to provide him with plenty of information on the Aztecs for History. He liked having her help him because not only did she explain difficult concepts to him, but she also made him the smartest kid in some of his classes, which he thought it was cool. It also made his crush, Lindsey Watkins, notice him.

This weekend, though, Dr. Brennan wasn't around. His dad said she had to work on her book or something. So, instead, his dad had to help as he washed the dishes.

Parker was working on vocabulary sentences like he did every week for English. He was given some pretty tough words: vapid, invincible, and anguish, but the one word he couldn't make a sentence for was 'empirical.'

He understood the definition—derived from or guided by experience or experiment—but couldn't figure out a sentence for it. Like most other boys his age, he liked making silly sentences. Most vocabulary assignments involved a character named Billy Booth. Billy was a daredevil who always seemed to show up in sentences with words like 'asinine' and 'catastrophe.' Billy did not seem to fit in with 'empirical.'

While maybe not as smart as Dr. Brennan, Parker thought his dad would be smart enough to help him. After all, he knew a lot of facts about hockey and always seemed to know when Parker was wearing dirty socks. "Dad!" Parker turned towards the kitchen to wave his pencil at Booth. "I need help," he hollered.

Booth wiped his hands on the back of his jeans and walked over to his son. He saw a myriad of math scribbles scattered on various papers and muttered something about how Bones was busy when he needed her the most. "Pre-Algebra isn't really my strong suit, bud."

Parker rolled his eyes and pushed the vocabulary list towards his dad. Barely giving Booth's eyes time to scan the list, Parker asked, "How do you use 'empirical' in a sentence?"

_I don't remember getting such big words in sixth grade_, Booth thought. He, too, tried to come up with a sentence but fell short. Instead, he decided to explain empiricism and give his son examples.

"Empiricism is a way of living, almost like a religion. An empiricist is kind of like a scientist who is constantly performing experiments to come up with a conclusion. Instead of simply believing a statement, they test the statement to see if it's true, or read about everyone else's experiments."

Parker cocked his head in partial confusion. "But how does that give me a sentence?"

Booth chuckled. "Someone who is _empirical _would hear someone say, 'Wood floats in water,' and instead of taking their word for it, puts multiple pieces of wood in water to see if it floats."

Parker's eyes lit up as he sat up straight in his seat and asked, "Like that time when you and me told Dr. Brennan that Rice Krispies cereal goes snap-crackle-pop when you pour milk on it but she didn't believe us, so she had to experience it herself?"

Messing his son's hair, Booth stood from the chair. "Exactly. Bones is very empirical in the way she goes about her everyday life, whether a big or small situation," he murmured more to himself than to the boy at the table. He walked back to the kitchen to finish the dishes, leaving Parker to finish his homework.

_Empirical_, he wrote. _Dr. Brennan is __empirical__ because she has to hear the snap, crackle, and pop to believe it. _


	6. Fortuitous

_**Author's Note:**_ _THANK YOU for all your kind words, all of the favorites, and alerts. I cannot wait to hear what you think about this one! Any guesses for G? I hope you enjoy! **Mendenbar** gets a HUGE thanks for catching my mistakes. That's what you get when nobody else proof reads your stuff. So thank you for letting me know!_

_I loved this idea (even though I can't see it happening), which is similar to another story I wrote for a different fandom, so I hope it lived up to it's potential... or at least comes close. _

**_Setting:_**_ I'm saying this takes place after Booth and Brennan returned from their S5 finale trips but Booth came back unattached. Instead, they got together. I also happen to love Vincent, so he's alive and spewing facts somewhere, and he still has money from Jeopardy. _**A few important things.** One, I apologize for the two parts of this that might be medically incorrect. Wikipedia only helps so much. Two, it is **important for you to know** that this story starts with Brennan and Booth in a relationship.__

**_Disclaimer: _**_I own the bones in my body—after all, can't you sell your body? Not that I want to_—but I don't own the TV show. How sad. Me and Hart would get along great. __

* * *

><p><strong>Fortuitous<br>**_Lucky; fortunate.  
><em>_The event that every gambler hopes for._

* * *

><p>If Seeley Booth ever learned one thing from Temperance Brennan, it was to expect everything and expect nothing, because sometimes you really just cannot know what she will throw at you. Most of the time her timing is obviously wrong, and sometimes it is spot on. But, occasionally, what seems flawed is better than anything he could have come up with.<p>

* * *

><p>Various tips, all stemming from a highly-popular, mysterious, and untraceable Twitter account, had led the team to four victims. Even with four victims, which tended to help find answers, no cause of death had been determined. Each victim's remains had been staged to form letters, but, without any vowels, nobody had a clue as to what they spelled out.<p>

Hodgins was unable to pull any useful particulates from the bones. None of the interns were able to come up with the cause of death. When the toxicity screening results all returned negative for poisons and drugs, everyone knew it was time to let the master do what she does best.

She stayed at the lab through the night, circling the remains over and over. She endlessly compared every bone of every body to the others, examining everything at least twice. Her notes were particularly meticulous.

Booth had insisted he stay with her in case she found something, claiming it was a "partner" thing when it was really more. Around two in the morning, he retired to her office to sleep. She, however, refused to take a break. At 5:45am, he was back at her side, bearing coffee. He paced as she examined.

A little after 7:00am, she was examining four bones side by side when she said the words he'd been waiting to hear: "I've got something." He was at her side in the blink of an eye, ready for her onslaught of information. In order to fulfill her process, she treated him like one of her interns. "What do you see," she prompted.

"A bone with pivots?"

She smiled and looked up at him from the bones. "Bones are not perfectly smooth. There are often divots, that you mistook for pivots, especially in bones of older gestations with Osteoporosis. However, all four of the victims have similar indentations of the same diameter and width apart of each other on the mandibles. A two-pronged object would have been thrust upward where it would have punctured the carotid artery and external jugular vein. The cause of death is rapid blood loss from the puncture wounds."

After removing her gloves, she met his eyes. She finally looked tired, but also looked disappointed. "I don't know how I missed it."

Booth, who understood words like "jugular vein" and "blood loss," and knew she was feeling down, took her face in his hands and placed a ridiculous kiss on the top of her head. She needed humor, and he could give it. "I could marry you, Bones," he joked. With a wink, he ran off the platform.

* * *

><p>After relaying the events to Angela, both women agreed the couple needed to talk, but for different reasons. Brennan thought Booth might have unknowingly messed up a phrase, but Angela was sure it was a sign of his subconscious. While Brennan wanted to prevent any future marriage-related altercations, Angela wanted the two to talk so Booth could change her friend's mind in the way only he does.<p>

Regardless of motive, they did talk, and Brennan didn't pad the start of the conversation any more than she did when she interrogates suspects.

"I don't wish to get married, Booth." Neither her statement nor the abrupt topic change surprised him. It was not his first choice of things to talk about while they drove to some Goth store to interview people of interest, but he allowed her to continue. "I am more than certain that my stance on marriage has been rather clear since the early stages of our partnership, so I do not understand why you said you could marry me earlier this morning."

He kept his eyes on the road. Before everything from Maluku and Afghanistan on, he would have steered away from the topic. As unfitting as the timing might have been, the next words from his mouth didn't feel wrong. "I know you don't want to get married, Bones." He quickly glanced her way to gauge her composure. He still had time to change the course of the conversation, but he felt willing to take the risk. "That doesn't mean a part of me doesn't want to marry you anyways."

"Booth—"

"Let me finish. I won't ever pressure you into marrying me, and if you ever feel that I am, I want you to tell me." He took a deep breath. This relationship, while still new and falling into place, seemed strong enough to weather his proposition, or so he hoped. "That being said, I want to make a deal with you. I'm going to ask you, often, to marry me. I _will_ change your mind, and when I do, you're going to tell me in the way only you can."

Booth knew her well enough to know she would momentarily overlook everything before the last clause. "How is that?"

He shrugged. "By giving me the code word—your favorite bone."

There was a pause as they both got out of the SUV and moved to the back. She shook her head and gathered a few supplies. "I work with bones everyday. The probability that I will mention it is high. You should choose a better password that does not pertain to my daily jargon."

"Nope," he denied. He enjoyed the irony that would ensue too much to change his parameter. "When you say 'patella' I will know to get down on my knee and ask you for the final time."

Once _she_ caught the irony of his statement, she laughed, "Ah, I get it. Patella, knee cap… very funny, Booth."

He hoped that when she finally did say it she wouldn't be laughing at his jokes. Before entering the store in a professional capacity, he shot her his goofiest grin and asked, "Bones, will you marry me?"

He knew she would refuse him, partially to win this "game," and even though rejected proposals were a touchy subject, he knew he would be alright with her negative answers as long as they added up to a positive one in the end. With every proposal, another part of his heart would be on the line, but it was a bet he was fine with placing.

What he didn't foresee the way she would refuse him. "Femur," she laughed.

* * *

><p>After femur, he got tibia. After tibia fittingly came fibula. He was thankful she started with the easier, more recognizable bones even though it meant she did not have to put much thought into her answers; he would gladly wait for the more abstract and complicated bones to come.<p>

For the most part, he asked randomly so she could see the fun in the game. He wanted to warm her up to the idea, not scare her away with overly serious declarations. He asked her at the diner, taunting that if they were married, his fries would also be her fries. She replied, "Phalange," as she took one of the said fries.

He asked her at the Founding Fathers as they shared a celebratory drink. She said, "Mandible."

One day, as they rode in the elevator on the way to Sweets' office, she answered, "Humerus," which made both partners laugh, and, one night, leaving the lab, she said, "The frontal bone."

It was a little shy of five months since they had started to play their game before either of them started to subtly grow serious. On one of their nights off, he insisted on cooking her dinner. As he washed the dishes, she sat on his couch and worked on her long-forgotten novel, wine glass nearby.

When he sat down next to her, he closed her laptop and placed it on the coffee table. She wasn't annoyed, made no irritated remark. He looked at her for a minute before asking, in a serious tone, "Bones, will you marry me?"

"Ischium," she replied. Attuned to her, he heard the almost untraceable waver in her voice and saw it in her countenance. She was beginning to thaw, with the bone that went beyond most basic and skeletal knowledge, and miniscule pause before her answer, as his evidence.

* * *

><p>The second Angela heard about their game, which was somewhere after tibia but before fibula, the news went all around the lab. Hodgins and Wendell immediately laid bets. Aristoo, Daisy, Vincent, and Cam all joined in when Brennan told Booth fibula. Sweets ended up putting money in the pot after Daisy blabbered about how romantic it was. After coaxing from Hodgins, Clark wagered a bet alongside Sweets. Fisher spewed about how depressing love can be instead of putting any money in himself.<p>

Hodgins closed the pot after proposal four, phalange. Daisy had bet that Brennan would accept Booth on the fifth try, which was the mandible. She was disappointed that anyone would deny love for so long and stormed from what Daisy had termed "The BBB meeting" in Limbo, standing for Brennan and Booth's Bone game. Sweets had to console her through her disappointment over true love and her mentor. She didn't care about the money.

Clark, who hadn't bet past the ante of fifty dollars, lost at the humerus. While Brennan's answer was funny to her and Booth, Clark rolled his eyes and left the meeting, only disappointed the workplace would continue to be unprofessional.

Wendell lost with his lucky number seven, the frontal bone, and Aristoo lost at try eight, ischium. Hodgins lost at proposal nine, trapezium. Vincent was out at Booth's tenth attempt, losing a rather large sum of his Jeopardy earnings to the ethmoid bone. Cam shot for proposal twelve, only to lose the $500 she bet on the coccyx, leaving just Sweets and Angela.

* * *

><p>Each time he asked her he could see her lack of conviction slide further and further away. It had been eight months since they started the proposals and a year since they had officially entered a relationship. For the most part, they lived at Brennan's apartment, as it was bigger, but Booth kept his apartment for times when she was gone or he wanted to spend the weekend with Parker.<p>

On the morning of their anniversary, which Brennan vehemently refused to make a fuss of, he asked her again. She muttered, "Talus," in between breaths as Booth kissed her jaw. He wanted to continue the lazy Sunday in bed, but he had something to pick up.

After he proposed for the twelfth time, coccyx, he went ring shopping. He had a custom engraving added to the band, which took time. He could see her struggle to refuse him grow with each answer, so he hoped he would need the ring soon.

Later that night, back in the warmth of the bed, Booth asked her again. The ring was across the room in his coat. She answered, "calcaneum," but he wasn't disappointed. He wanted her to be ready, and he wanted to make her _want_ him to propose.

* * *

><p>He had an elaborate night planned for the proposal he hoped to be his last. He had decided to wait exactly a month after his last try and was getting anxious. When he woke up, the anxiety was gone and replaced with excitement. His joy grew when he spotted her.<p>

She was making toast, of all things. For whatever reason, he forgot his elaborate plans or the ring in his bag. When he saw the green twist-tie on the counter, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to throw her off. He snuck up behind her and discreetly grabbed the twist-tie as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

She murmured, "Good morning," before he held out the green circle. With his head on her shoulder, he saw her hands fumble with the fake ring and felt her breathing hitch. Bells went off in his gut as he watched her slide it past her forth distal and intermediate phalange for it to rest on the proximal phalange. The part he tied together was placed like a ring setting without the jewel on the top of her finger.

The toast was forgotten.

In the few seconds it took her to turn in his arms, his mind scrambled to remember his script for later that night. He had wanted to tell her how she made him the luckiest man alive, how much he understands how big of a deal her agreeing to marrying him is. He wanted to tell her how high the stakes were on this gamble, but how he had been willing to take it for her. He had planned on telling her this was everything he had wanted and waited for. Instead, his mind went blank. He couldn't articulate the words to simply ask.

She saw surprise on his face and lightly chuckled. "I believe this is the part where you say, 'Bones, will you marry me,'" she reminded him.

But the words finally returned and he had so much more to say. "Bones, I knew. From that first moment, I knew. I've been waiting for you to know, too," he rushed. With a sly grin, he added, "Apparently, your learning curve isn't as steep as you thought." He couldn't resist teasing her. He winked and she tilted her head back in laughter. He could continue for an hour, but he felt the sudden urge to get to the point. "Bones, would you do me the honor of being my wife, my partner in marriage?"

Her smile was part happiness and part amusement. "Patella," was her answer. He thought it was probably the most beautiful thing he had ever heard. It certainly was his favorite bone of the body now that her lips had uttered it.

He pulled her tighter and dipped her back in a kiss before rushing to the bedroom to retrieve the real ring_—_the ring engraved, "_Bones—Patella_." He finally got down on one knee and asked her for the last time.

And that time, she simply said, "Yes."

* * *

><p>Angela won, but Sweets argued it. They both placed their bets on when Brennan would answer patella, but he felt that as their psychologist, who literally wrote the book on the couple, that there was no way he should have lost. Clearly he had forgotten his study was flawed.<p>

After the Squints officially heard the story, including how Booth asked her the second time, Sweets got especially technical and insisted on a cut of the rather large sum of money.

Angela had bet on fifteen, Sweets on sixteen. She was dead on, and everyone agreed she deserved the money, but when Booth walked in on their "meeting," he commandeered all of it with a mock speech about how horrible and "morally unethical"—his redundant words—their bet was.

Later, in the privacy of his office, he and Brennan shared a laugh as her ring-clad hand fanned herself with a lot of cash. They hit the jackpot; his gamble paid off in more ways than one.


	7. Gallant

**_Setting: _**_Unimportant, though I prefer early S3 when Angela and Hodgins are together, or maybe even during S2. Although, for the purposes of a minor mention of his character, Clark was introduced and definitely works somewhere on the premises. _

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I don't own the show, and the quote I use is therefore not mine. _

_Thanks again for all of your support and interest! It all means a lot to me. You all seem to like humor, so here it is! Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Gallant<br>**_Brave-spirited, noble-minded, or chivalrous: __a gallant knight; a gallant rescue attempt._

* * *

><p>"My goodness, chivalry is not dead and it sure is looking hotter than ever," Angela noted as she watched Brennan exit Booth's SUV in the parking structure. Sometimes the man could make Angela, the happily attached woman, feel like a teenager all over again.<p>

Brennan's eyebrows furrowed as she followed Angela's gaze to Booth. Booth caught her stare and waved to the women. "I don't know what that means." Unperturbed, the scientist turned her attention back to the file she had picked up at the Hoover Building.

The women passed through security and headed straight to Brennan's office. Attempting to end the conversation, Brennan turned on her laptop and begun revising an article she was hoping to publish.

Angela turned to her best friend, hands on her hips. "Agent Studly, your own personal knight in shining FBI standard-issue body armor. Sweetie, not only is he worthy of you jumping his bones, but he is the gallant knight to your damsel in distress." Theatrically, the histrionic artist threw a hand over her forehead. "Oh, the fantasies."

"You mean Booth?" She briefly looked from her screen to see Angela nod. "He drives me from his office quite frequently. I fail to comprehend your response."

Of course she "failed to comprehend her response." Angela rolled her eyes at her best friend's naive oblivion. Anyone else sees the way Booth glances at Brennan and sees the deeper level. Even Clark, grudgingly, would admit it. Everyone knows that some of his actions are reserved especially for Brennan and Brennan only. Their feelings are the worse kept secret to everyone but themselves.

Angela shut the laptop, catching her friend's complete, and somewhat annoyed, attention. "Bren, he opens your doors and ushers you in a room with his hand on the small of your back." Brennan wanted to point out how the word 'back' does not properly describe much of anything. Angela knew her too well and stopped her from speaking. "He pays for your meals or drinks more often than he lets you pay, and it's not even because you two are dating. Sometimes he pulls your chair out for you, and he almost always makes sure you eat a minimum of two meals a day."

Brennan seethed impatience and Angela knew it wasn't simply from interrupting her work. Brennan knew where the conversation was heading and was trying to be short to avoid it. Being such a good friend, Angela wasn't about to let that happen. "He saves you from serious danger at least once every other week, I swear. He cares deeply for you, Bren, from the little things like chairs to the big things like scary, impending doom. And you wave them off like nothing."

As uncomfortable as she was, Brennan was relieved when her eyes landed on her partner, who was making his way back to her office. "Booth!" Brennan scrambled to get away from her desk.

Booth smiled when he saw her, but his smile instantly faltered when he saw Angela. Mixed with Brennan's wide gaze and over-eager reaction, he could tell the two women were having a talk he'd rather not know about. "Uh, hey, Bones. Angela."

Angela and Booth didn't miss Brennan's silent plea for Booth to save her from continuing the conversation. Always happy to save his partner, he grinned with anticipation of the silly lie he was going to give. "Don't even," Angela warned, pointing at Booth. He was busted.

Regardless, Booth winked at Angela before proceeding to ignore her. "Bones, we have a suspect in Interrogation."

At first, she was confused. They had just filed the signed confession, therefore there was no way they could already have a suspect for a new, nonexistent murder. When she saw him waggle his eyebrows, she caught onto the ploy. "Ah, we have a suspect." Too overtly, she winked at Booth. "We better go then, to interrogate the suspect who is in Interrogation."

He quickly led her out of the office, his hand on her back, before he instructed her to make a run for it. Angela jogged a few steps outside of the door and heard him loudly whisper, "She's onto us, Bones!"

Angela listened to their laughs echo down the hall before she called, "We're not through here, you two!"

Gallant Booth, always swinging to her rescue and springing her from trouble or conversations about love.


	8. Halcyon

**_Author's Note:_**_ Again, thanks to all. You are all AWESOME. Go buy yourself some pie, or other non-nasty dessert, and celebrate your awesomeness. Thanks again, and enjoy!_

**_Setting:_**_ Booth and Brennan are in a newly founded relationship. Time is irrelevant. Hooray!_

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><p><strong>Halcyon<br>**_Calm and peaceful like a glass lake at dawn._

* * *

><p>If she caught him, he would easily be in a fully body cast, but he enjoys watching her sleep enough to take the risk. During the day, whether on the platform in the lab or in Interrogation, she never looks truly relaxed. Sleeping, though, in the spot next to him, she looks calm.<p>

When she arrives at a crime scene, she is all business. Any unfinished conversation is almost always immediately disregarded with the snap of her latex gloves. She flips some internal switch and from that point on focuses solely on the task at hand. He can see the gears turning, pick up on the millisecond of thought between his answer and her next inquiry.

Even the way she labors over a table of bones is erect and formal. A hair never falls out of place and she never compromises evidence, no matter how close to her nose she may bring it. Her eyes crease on the sides as she endlessly squints at bones, her mind reeling with every possible explanation for everything she is seeing and not seeing.

She never looks at ease when they interrogate suspects, giving every person they question a very pointed stare. The way she sits is like she is braced and ready at the most sudden of signals to attack, whether verbally with evidence, or physically with fists and guns. Sometimes, she is more tense than the person they are leaning on in hopes of making them slip up.

It appears that she is occasionally at ease when she is at the diner with him, but he knows her and the brain in that pretty head of hers way too well to be fooled. Even in the realms of a casual meeting between the two, or a drink after they solve a case, he can tell she is always thinking, reading his facial expressions and movements or the meaning behind his words.

No matter what, it's always something. It is those rare moments when he sees her sleeping that he enjoys seeing a new side of her. On a few occasions, he has walked into her office and found her asleep on her couch. She fell asleep in his SUV a time or two, as well. Those times have given him brief glimpses, but now he has uninterrupted hours.

Lounging next to her in bed is a new and fulfilling sensation in and of itself, and knowing that they are no longer just crime-solving partners always brings a smile to his lips. Lying on his stomach, he watches her back rise and fall with each steady, relaxed breath. In the quiet of the night, he can hear the small whistle of air passing through her lips. Never has she looked more innocent or uninhibited.

No marks of worry, stress, or exhaustion mar her features. Her muscles are limp, her lips slightly parted because her face is smooshed into her hand. He watches her long, brown eyelashes lightly flutter in response to a dream. He smiles, wondering if she dreams of the many bones of the body, or him.

A lock of hair tickles her cheek, and, knowing she would swat him away if she was awake, he lifts his hand to lightly brush away the hair so he can see more of her beautiful, peaceful face.

Before he touches her, his fingers lingering inches from her eyebrows, a loud gargle-infused snore rips through her chest and her foot shoots out and kicks him in the shin, reminding him, not so gracefully, that she is still Brennan.

He laughs at her odd, sleep-induced quirk and proceeds to move the hair.

Maybe she isn't quite the peaceful creature he thought she was in her deep slumber.


	9. Infuriating

_**Author's Note:**__ The italic-font is a narration, sort of like a voice over, if you will. This was an experiment in formatting and style. Also, last week I decided I will post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to the best of my ability. _

**_Setting: _**_Hm, sometime after "The Doctor in the Photo" (S6E9). You could says Hannah exists and Booth still struggled with his feelings for Brennan, or you could pretend Barbie Hannah accidentally fell off a huge cliff to her brutal death and went crack. (Insert more of Aristoo's funny sound effects here)._

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I just checked my bank account... I'm too poor to own the show._

_Your **i**maginative and **i**ncredible reviews are **i**ntoxicating and** i**mportant to my **i**nternal heart. You make it **i**ncandescent. Special thanks to **penandra** for giving me a great list of adjectives for this chapter. One of them elicited an epiphany and helped me fill in a stubborn gap._

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><p><strong>Infuriating<br>**_Causing or tending to cause anger or outrage; maddening.  
>She drives him insane, and not always in the best of ways. <em>

* * *

><p><em>Sometimes, he gets away with quietly brooding and seething, or throwing a minor tantrum like a child. Sometimes, he snaps and tells her not to speak so he does not say something he regrets. Sometimes he gets so angry he doesn't know what to say. But sometimes he speaks his mind in a heated furry of rage. <em>

* * *

><p>They don't argue often. He irks her, she irks him, and they bicker or debate, but their words rarely turn malevolent and spiteful. In his line of work, and with his military background, Booth understands the importance of forgiving someone before you part. Anything can happen at any time and leaving without resolving issues can make devastation that much harder to bear.<p>

He can't always help himself, though. Usually, he can keep himself in check and stay silent when she insults religion or him for the umpteenth time, but occasionally one word sets him off. Sometimes she just goes a step too far and all of the tension built up creates this instantaneous reaction inside of him that he cannot control. He snaps, and as the strong, independent woman she is, she fights back.

She insults him on a personal level, he tosses something back in her face. While she picks out what he is sensitive about, he retorts with the issues she is having at the time. A part of him knows that most of the time she doesn't mean it rudely. Almost all of the time, he really doesn't care and is rude to her regardless of her reasons. His tone is sarcastic and occasionally vindictive. He puts her down like a bully, hoping it will make him feel better.

It never does. No longer than a second, at least.

It's the look on her face that makes him feel especially guilty. Sometimes when he yells or says something demeaning, a flash of hurt forms over her features before she can pull everything together. When he does verbally lash out, and sees he has upset her, he wants to take his insult back, but he knows with her he can't. What is said is said, and no matter how many times he apologizes, it stings.

After seeing her hurt, he forgets why he was mad at her, completely angry with his own reaction, and punishes himself instead.

* * *

><p><em>Sometimes, he wants to grab her by the shoulders and physically shake her as he growls, "What the hell were you thinking," through barred teeth. <em>

* * *

><p>One of the qualities he admires is her brave, head-strong character. He also hates it. Her audacious nature is what pushes her into storms of bullets and unnecessarily dangerous altercations. At times she reminds him of a fearless teenager who believes they are invincible. She, possibly more than anyone else, should know how incorrect that way of thinking is.<p>

Being willing to take a bullet for him is something he admires her for, even something he loves her for, but that doesn't mean he wants her to start jumping in front of every gun or knife. She can be badass, and like he once told her, it's incredibly attractive. But, no matter how hot he may think she is when she goes punching criminals, he is the man and _he_ is supposed to protect _her_. It drives him crazy sometimes that she won't let him, and yet he appreciates it, which frustrates him further. And then the cycle continues.

When he saw her crouching in the middle of the dark street, he was curious. Their relationship had been terse and off lately, but he never thought she would take investigating so far into her own hands. Before he saw the car's lights rounding the corner, he simply thought her actions were stupid and unlike a seasoned professional, especially for her standards. The second he saw those lights, though, he was absolutely pissed off.

How and why she would put herself in danger baffled him, but he found himself more focused on her current wellbeing than deciphering her flawed reasoning. He pushed away all thoughts of how she reminded him of Zack and all of the questions he had for her. He had to focus on remaining somewhat calm. This was neither the time nor place to yell or reprimand her, despite how much he wanted to.

She went too far to bring justice that time. Part of her was crazy, over-identifying with the case, but he didn't care. He was torn between hugging her and staying the night to make sure she was alright, and seriously blowing up at her behavior.

* * *

><p><em>Sometimes, he struggles between punching a hard object and passionately assaulting her virtue, and lips, in public. The daily fight to control himself is deteriorating to his health, or so he is convinced. <em>

* * *

><p>She is his vice. Gambling used to be his issue, but now, it's her.<p>

She has this graceful way of studying bones. He can see the clinical side of her assessment, but he also sees an unspoken, more personal form of communication between her and what she observes. When she's not squinting too hard, he thinks she's adorable.

Even though he insists on being in charge, he admires the way she demands attention at a crime scene with an air of confidence, never cockiness. But then, when he catches her eye, his blood begins to boil knowing he can't act on the upsurge of feelings she creates within him. The internal struggle frustrates him.

At the diner, she steals his fries like they are hers. He honestly doesn't mind, but when he baits her he gets to see one of his favorite grins and occasionally the intense passion behind her eyes.

Sometimes she thinks she is hilarious and bumps her shoulder with his. Her lack of street smarts never fails to make him chuckle.

She trusts him not to take advantage of her weakness whenever she has wrapped her arms around his waist for a much needed embrace in the past. In those hugs, he finds himself torn. He wants to show her how much she means to him, but doesn't want to exceed their boundaries.

He loves her for all of these things, and hates himself for being tempted at the same time.

When their hands brush, he wants nothing more than to grab her hand in his and to squeeze her long fingers. When she smiles, he can't help but to smile back. When she verbally teases him, he wants to waggle his eyebrows and remind her of what his favorite belt buckle says. And when she physically teases him, whether on purpose or not, he wants to press her up against the closest wall he can find and make her forget all of the names of the bones in her body.

When they're in the lab or his office, it frustrates him that he cannot do exactly that. When they're at the diner or driving in his SUV, he inwardly curses that he had to draw lines between them when he really wants to break the speed limit and take her home with him.

She is intoxicating. Her touch excites his nerves, sometimes causing him to shudder. After a long drive, or after spending a lot of time in her presence, her unique scent sticks to him, haunting him as he tries to fall asleep. Even when he is angry with her, he dies to see her again.

While he would never want to give up their friendship, being "just friends" with her drives him the craziest, infuriates him the most.

* * *

><p><em>Everything about her drives him mad, from her innocence, deniability, and oblivion, to her argumentative and factual nature, and to her very presence. Dr. Temperance Brennan very well may be the death of Special Agent Seeley Booth. <em>


	10. Jaded

**_Author's Note:_**_ I like a good hint of darkness every now and then. I always have to have a happy ending, though, so I promise it's happy. I'm also worried about what you think. But, I promise the next word is... Well, you're just going to have to find out. Definitely makes for an interesting chapter, in a comical way. Let's go with that._

**_IMPORTANT:_**_ I did say in the beginning, and in the summary, that this would vary in genre. BUT, I know that angst isn't everyone's cup of tea, so _I started a new story called "The Outtake in the Adjective," which is a series of, well, outtakes from this series! **I posted a second 'J' chapter there.** I currently have three outtakes I plan on posting after this one, with the possibility of more, so if you're interested, check it out!__

**_Setting: _**_All that's really important is that this is a while after "Aliens in a Spaceship" (S2E9) in a non-cannon-universe where Booth and Brennan are close friends, like they are in the later seasons. _

**_Warning:_**_ Involves minor torture._

**_Last Thing:_**_ Italic font = narration of a dream._

* * *

><p><strong>Jaded<br>**_Worn out; wearied; cynically callous.  
>The end result of having a steady flow of negative experiences, disappointment, and unfulfillment fed into a person which leads to a breaking point; emotional bankruptcy.<br>Sometimes, memories haunt us. _

* * *

><p>It was 2:30 in the morning and she couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, even just for a second, images from her past floated under her eyelids. Her skin was clammy with nightmares, hair stuck to her forehead and chin. The dark, which she normally found a soothing place to decompress, filled her with unease. She couldn't face the bedroom door, but she didn't want to turn her back to it, either. She feared being surprised, yet feared seeing what was coming.<p>

She compromised by laying flat on her back, arms tucked into her side. She decided to try to sleep again and closed her eyes, only for her mind to wander back to what had woken her up.

_It all started with Christmas. Her nightmares always started with the image of a tree with ornaments and lights, with tinsel and strands of popcorn. There were presents underneath the branches wrapped in bright green, red, silver, and gold paper, adorned with frivolous bows and ribbons. She had always loved making elaborate bows out of thick ribbon with her mother. She would make the biggest bow for her father who loved everything about the holiday. _

_When she saw the familiar colors and shapes under the tree, her spirits lifted. She bounded down the rest of the stairs in search of her parents who she believed had returned home. _

_Instead of finding four Christmas mugs, two filled with coffee and two with hot cocoa, she found an old mug from the day her parents disappeared. She hadn't found the courage to touch it. The fireplace wasn't lit and her father's old record of Christmas music wasn't playing. Everything was wrong. _

Before that time, Temperance Brennan hadn't experienced heartbreak. She didn't know what true pain was like, didn't know what it felt like to be alone.

In attempt to stop her mind from retreating back into her nightmare, she peeled the sheets from where they covered parts of her body and left the bed. She walked over to her dresser to choose clothing for her day. Her hands ran over the soft cotton of a black tank top and her thoughts floated back to a time when she wore something similar.

_Her memory of her first experience with the Foster System is what frustrates her the most about the system. Russ had handed her off to her new caseworker, an older woman who pretended to care at Brennan's family home, but never truly did in the privacy of her office. Her hair was so white it was almost translucent, and she always smelled heavily of baby powder. The scent always overwhelmed Brennan. _

_Dolores Rivers was a woman well past her prime and well past a time where she felt bad for the children she was helping. Children from broken homes or children orphaned by parents long ago stopped disturbing her. She let Brennan pack a few suitcases of clothing and books, but once they were leaving, Dolores only allowed one bag. Brennan chose the bag with a lot of books and a few items of clothing. _

_In it she mostly only had pajamas. A baggy t-shirt, drawstring pants, some socks, jeans, and her favorite black tank top her mom had recently given her. It still smelled like the jasmine tea her mom drank intermittently through the day._

_She had been wearing that tank top when her first Foster Father touched her in a way that made her uncomfortable. Her own parents had pushed the hair out of her face before, but this man had a sickening smile on his face when he did it. Even as innocent and naïve as she was, Brennan knew there was something different when his fingers ghosted over her cheeks. _

_Later that night as she was lying sleepless in bed with her back to the door, he joined her in her bed. He smelled of alcohol and whispered mostly incoherent phrases. The smell of bourbon erased the last shred of her mother's scent. _

Brennan, who hadn't moved since the day-dream-memory begun, put the tank down and walked to her closet for a blouse and dress pants. After laying them on the bed, she shred herself of her clothing and started a warm shower.

It was bright in the bathroom, and she hoped the bright lights and hot water would help her wake up and provide her with a distraction from her dark thoughts.

Steam surrounded her, hot water burned her body, and she once more was brought back to the livid memory of her nightmare's progression.

_The water is hot. The soap's suds coat her hands, overpowering her skin's normal friction. Her hands burn from the scalding water and extensive scrubbing. _

_Her foster parents surprise her, and as she turns to face them she drops one of the dishes she was working on. It shatters at her feet. Her wet, soapy hands burn, but not as much as her lungs do after they lock her in the trunk of their car as punishment. The inside of the trunk is humid and the air is musty. Each breath burns her throat and hurts her lungs because of the heat. _

_At times, it felt like she was going to die. She couldn't be certain she would be let out. Her mouth is dry and she ached for water and cooler air. Night came, but a reprieve didn't. The air stayed warm and her clothes remained damp with sweat. _

_Her fingernails were broken and caked in blood. The palms of her hands were raw and bruised by her attempts to push the trunk open. One of her shoes ripped when it caught onto something metal as she tried to kick her way out._

_Eventually, she gave up. She rolled herself into a ball and stopped crying or trying to escape. She welcomed the hot air with deep, long breaths. _

_When she was finally let out after two days, she vowed that she would never give up again. The next time she was locked in a hot car, buried alive with her associate, she never gave up. She did everything in her power to get out because, this time, she had a life to live and friends waiting for her. _

She tightened the towel around her body and shivered. Her breath came out in panicked gulps. Feeling somewhat claustrophobic, she opened the bathroom door to let the steam out. As she toweled her hair, she stepped back into her bedroom.

Today, after her mostly sleepless night, she didn't care about appearances. She threw her hair in a messy bun and quickly put on her clothes before she rushed out of the apartment.

She arrived at the lab in the dark of early morning. Ten minutes later, a little before four am, and she was in the bone room examining remains from limbo. Here, her past couldn't haunt her. Here, she felt safe. Distractions came in sets of two hundred and six, sometimes less depending on what had been found. Here, in the bright lights and brisk air-conditioned lab, nobody could harm her.

A tad after six am, she felt lonely, but when Booth strode into the lab with a smile just for her around 7:30, all else was forgotten. It was like somehow he knew.

* * *

><p>It was early, that much he knew. He was used to restless nights, but for entirely different reasons. A case, sometimes, kept him up. His mind would run over details and possible motives. Sometimes his best results came from those nights. Other nights, sleep is hard to come by because of his training. He was trained to wake at the drop of a pin.<p>

Tonight, it's nightmares. Not about clowns or therapy sessions, but about his past. About his father. About being tortured. About life's what-ifs.

Laying flat on his back, he closed his eyes and willed the nightmares away and the sleep to come.

_Alcohol started everything. His father always got violent when he had alcohol, and he always consumed the strong stuff. One drink, he would get silly. Two drinks, he'd be irritable. Three, and he would yell. Four drinks, and someone was bound to get hurt._

_At first, it was his mother. His mom, the carefree woman who wrote jingles for commercials, was a good woman. She kept her children safe, took blows until she bled and his father got bored. Seeing her bloody face gave him nightmares as a child. Once she was gone, he bore the beatings to protect his baby brother._

_A child should find a routine reassuring and comfortable. You wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, go to school, come home and do your homework before eating dinner, watch some TV, bathe, and go to bed. For Seeley Booth, watching TV meant being his dad's own personal punching bag. Even after he went to sleep, his dad would sometimes kick open his door and continue. A blow to the stomach, a punch to the jawline. _

_That fear of _knowing_ what's going to happen next, that's what gets him. That's what he remembers and feels when he dreams about his father's punches. _

He woke back up in a sweat.

Until his dad left, and he moved in with his Grandfather, he never had the normal childhood. He had school, and occasional outings with his dad, but whenever things were looking up, everything came crashing down around him.

He gritted his teeth.

Hoping purpose would dispel the memories, he got out of bed and pulled on a pair of trousers. Walking to where he kept his belts and ties, he picked up his war-related belt buckle and rubbed his thumb over the engraving.

_He was in a room with metal pipes, knives, guns, and paralyzing drugs all splayed before him. He and a few others were naked, gagged, and bound to metal rods above their heads. Pools of blood were around each four of the soldier's feet. That blood, mixed with urine, sweat, and their captor's cigarette smoke overwhelmed Booth's nostrils. He felt sick, but had to remain strong._

_He stared straight ahead as the man to his right was beaten. The men hit his torso with the various rods and pipes, worsening the already purple and black bruises. Despite the man's agony, he remained silent. _

_They had no clothes, no contact, no shred of light. All they had was their ability to stay quiet and take the beatings. _

_He was always last. One by one, they beat the other three men until they slipped back into an unconscious state. Then, they started on him. The torture was no different. He only looked into the eyes of the man who was beating him once and he saw nothing; black, dark, and lifeless. What he assumed his own looked like. _

_Each blow, each cut, he braced until the last thing he remembered was tasting his own blood. _

Pulling the belt through the loops of his pants, he looked in the mirror. There were heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes. He didn't know where he planned on going, but wherever it was, he needed to look human.

He walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. He tried to forget; to forget what always came next in his nightmares, and to forget what had happened. In the last, and worst, part of his nightmare, he had failed.

_It is always cold. Goosebumps run up his arms and shivers rack his body. His lips are dry from the cold air. _

_As he paces, four sets of eyes watch him. He is certain they are blaming him, certain they are annoyed by the shuffling of his feet. Every few seconds, he looks up at the two doors that stop him. It is well past the point of him being able to do anything, but he can't stop moving. _

_He was supposed to save her. He was supposed to find her in time. Her people, they could do their thing, but he was supposed to simply _know_. He failed himself, he failed her friends, and he failed her. Brennan and Hodgins were the Gravedigger's two most recent victims because he couldn't find her. _

_He could have tried harder. He could have threatened more people. He should have broken down every door in the D.C. area to find her. He didn't. He was only a few hours late. Only a few hours. _

_The medical examiner pushed through the two doors and nodded for Booth to join him. He needed to officially identify her body. Angela joined him to identify Hodgins. When he sees her, her lips are cracked and bloody. He can still see the remnants of her injuries. He takes her cold hand, still covered in a layer of dirt and blood, and promises he will find her murderer. He promises to get him and make him pay. _

_He pushed their friends away. He cut off communication. He couldn't take it. If she couldn't live her life surrounded by those who loved her, why should he? _

Sick, he rested his head against the tile of the bathroom. He had to leave, had to get out. Most importantly, he needed to know she was alive. He needed to feel her warmth himself.

He blasted the heater in the SUV so he wouldn't feel cold. He drove aimlessly for a few hours, stopping for coffee and a muffin, before he ended up in the parking garage of the lab. This wasn't his domain, but it was hers, and she was exactly what he needed right then.

When he saw her, he smiled. When he saw her eyes, he didn't question why she was there so early. He knew. Something inside of him just knew. He could recognize a sleepless, terror filled night. He understood. After all, he had just experienced one of his own.

Without any explanation, he pulled her into a hug. He breathed in her scent and engrained the feeling of her in his arms into his memory. "It's gonna be okay, Bones. Everything will be okay," he whispered.

She didn't want him to have to deal with her brokenness, but having someone who understood made her feel better better. The two jaded souls understood the other. In that, they found comfort. In each other, they found a much needed breath of life.


	11. Kinky

_**Author's Note:** You all need to get your mind out of the gutter. Here's a little hint of humor. Might seem a little c__racky—or kracky, if you like puns—but a little crack never did a lot of harm, right? I promise, it's totally T. (I mean, I never mentioned HOW what happens happened, wink wink). There might be an innuendo or two, but I am an innocent Precious Moments angel with the big teardrop eyes, adorable nose, small mouth, and perfect curly, blonde hair._

**_Outtake Information:_** _This wasn't the original 'K' chapter but I felt like after the last one we needed one a tad funnier than the original chapter was, so I wrote this. **My other 'K' chapter has been posted, though!** I started a new story after 'J' called "The Outtake in the Adjective," which is a series of, well, outtakes/extra chapters from this series! So if you're interested, check it out! _

**_Setting:_**_ Sometime after "The Princess and the Pear" (S4E14) when Booth threw out his back and was benched. Basically everything after that point can be forgotten, as usual._

_Thanks again for the reviews, alerts, favorites, and C2 adds! Enjoy!_

* * *

><p><strong>Kinky<br>**_Full of kinks or tightly curled.  
><em>_As a slang word, it means weird, bizarre, eccentric or peculiar, specifically sexually abnormal or perverse._

* * *

><p>The second he sat up in bed, he groaned. By no means was Booth old, but his back tended to disagree. Everything felt stiff and achy. Whenever he moved, pain shot up his spine so badly it stole his breath. Grimacing, he turned to look at the time. With a while to spare before he needed to leave, he decided to do everything he could to relieve the tension and, most importantly, ease the pain.<p>

First, he tried laying back down in his soft bed. His head hadn't even hit the pillow before he shot back up. The bed was too soft, allowing his body to mold into the padding instead of staying somewhat erect.

He got out of bed and lowered himself onto his rug, hoping a completely firm surface would keep his back erect and keep the pain away. It worked for a moment before he allowed his body to relax and subsequently lacked the amount of support needed. Plus, hardwood floors and his shoulder blades weren't too fond of each other. He considered taking a bath, but quickly discarded the idea with the thought of painfully attempting to lower himself into the tub.

Moving as little as possible, he shuffled to his living room and reclined on the couch with as much restraint as he could. The couch gave him enough back support to keep him in a position that was painless. He reached for the remote and flipped on cartoons. After almost a half an hour of watching Tom and Jerry hitting each other with oversized mallets and grand pianos, Booth faced reality and picked up the phone.

He called in sick first, contacted Brennan second, and talked to his pharmacist third. His cases would be temporarily assigned to another agent, Brennan was on her way over with her vast knowledge of the skeletal system and other reparations, and his pharmacist agreed to refill his pain medication from the last time he seriously threw out his back.

Brennan knocked at his door after Wile E. Coyote fell off a cliff three times—around twenty minutes later. Booth instinctually lifted himself off of the couch. His movement was too fast, and he found himself crippled on the floor in pain.

When Booth didn't answer the door soon enough, she called out his name and searched her purse for her emergency spare key. As she unlocked the door, she heard various parts of what he was saying. The words "my back," "I am," "ouch" and "kinky," shone through the pillow his face was smothered by.

After quickly setting the bags she brought on his kitchen table, she rushed to his side and helped him roll over. After assessing his pain level and helping him back onto the couch, she asked, "You're feeling kinky?" Brennan never guessed him to be a "pain is pleasure" guy, especially after the whole pony-play case they had.

Booth's cheeks turned bright red and he grimaced. "Geeze, Bones. No, I'm not kinky." He squeezed his eyes shut to concentrate on a lucid thought. "My back—my back is kinky. Can you use your magic fingers and help me?"

Even though she could tell he was in excruciating pain, she couldn't fully suppress her chuckle or desire to tease him. "Is this an 'I'll scratch your itch if you scratch mine' sort of situation?"

He didn't bother to touch on her idiom. Instead, he glared and moaned, "Yes."

If his non-drug-induced responses were any indication for how fun of a day it could turn out to be, Brennan could not wait to have some fun with a totally stoned Booth and his "kinky back."


	12. Lyrical

**_Author's Note:_**_ This one's shorter, which is half ironic and half completely fitting. Thanks again, everyone!_

**_Setting:_**_ The first part of it is relevant to almost any episode, the second part is during "The Change in the Game" (S6 finale), and the third part of it is after the S6 finale._

**_Disclaimer:_**_ I don't own the show. _

* * *

><p><strong>Lyrical<br>**_Expressive, emotional, deeply felt, personal, subjective, passionate, lyric._

* * *

><p>Her head turned to the left and their eyes met. They had an understanding, some sort of silent form of communication. With one look, they knew what the other was thinking; the same thing.<p>

With an almost unnoticeable nod, he signaled for her to voice their thoughts to other person in the room. That person, Sweets, felt like an intruder as he watched the two. When she spoke, he felt more included, but not fully.

Some things between the two were only between the two. Booth can pick up on her most subtle displays of emotions, and Brennan can pick up on his tells. He always knows when she's trying to hide her true feelings, and she knows when he is angry, sometimes before he even realizes it. For whatever reason, she cannot silently communicate with others, just Booth.

Sweets has never seen anyone close to their unparalleled silent communication, and he doesn't think he ever will.

* * *

><p>His gaze bore into her skin, setting her senses on fire. She was nervous but insisted on sitting alone. She knew he wanted to help, wanted to reassure away her every bad thought, but her mind continued reeling, and she continued ignoring him. She knew he was staring, but she couldn't look up. Not yet.<p>

As if somehow it would give her the reassurance she needed, she squeezed the bunny in her lap. It was an inanimate object, she reminded herself. Of course it couldn't soothe her.

It was soft and had no choking parts, which made it the perfect gift for her best friend's child. She hoped that it could do for the baby what it could no longer do for her.

She had so many things to tell him, but she couldn't come up with the words. She could think of with what someone in a novel might say, what Kathy might say to Andy, or even the way she admitted everything in Booth's "coma dream" that she wrote, but when she imagined the words coming from her lips, everything seemed erroneous.

He would know what to say; he always did. Finally unable to avoid him any longer, she lifted her gaze from her lap and looked into his eyes.

His grin was lopsided and small. It made her stomach uneasy and calm at the same time. Even though he was trying to reassure her about Hodgins and Angela's baby, when she looked at him, she knew everything would work out. He didn't need to say anything; she already understood.

* * *

><p>The warm pressure of his body on hers woke her up. He didn't bother to say good morning; they were well past verbal conversation. Instead, he turned her in his arms and trailed his warm lips along her collarbone.<p>

When he reached the base of her neck, he looked into her eyes. In them, he saw everything she was thinking. She wasn't afraid; she didn't look like she wanted to flee. A story of happiness, completion, and love was what she quietly communicated.

Their bodies were flush and he could feel goose bumps of anticipation spread over her legs. For a final moment, his gaze burned into her skin. With the same lopsided grin, he rested his nose besides hers, their foreheads touching.

The moment was the most intimate thing they had shared, enhanced only by their lack of conversation even though they silently communicated so much.

Finally, her arms wrapped around his neck. Her fingers threaded into his hair, brushing the tips. She raised her chin to bring their lips together. The kiss said everything she couldn't. He didn't need words—he just needed her.


	13. Mischievous

_**Author's Note:** 'M' was the hardest word to write to date. I forced myself for five days to sit and write this and came up empty each time. I wanted to write malleable, but couldn't. I wanted to write momentary, and did, but posted it in "The Outtake in the Adjective."_

_**Setting:** This particular installment is actually a continuation of the fourth chapter, "Devious," but could mostly stand alone as well. This one involves an intern, but honestly, the time this takes place means absolutely nothing... again._

**_Fun Fact:_**_ For a class I'm taking, I have to buy a lab kit. In that lab kit is a quarter-sized skeleton! There's also apparently a brain and a cat to dissect, but I am definitely looking forward to having my own mini-skeleton to do experiments with! Classroom skeletons always had a name when I was a child. Any suggestions for mine?_

* * *

><p><strong>Mischievous<br>**_Playfully annoying; causing annoyance, harm, or trouble.  
>Causing or showing a fondness for causing trouble in a playful way. <em>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Recap…<strong>_

_She saw his blank face and felt the need to apologize, even though she found the situations quite entertaining. He reached out his hand. "Lemme see your phone." Confused, she obliged. When he saw the thirty-two outgoing calls to his office line, he shook his head and said, "You devious devil-woman," with a small disbelieving smirk. She had "butt-dialed" him thirty-two times. She was __definitely__ going to pay._

* * *

><p>He warned her. When he pelted her with snowballs and yelled, "I'm so going to get you for that," he really did mean revenge was on its way. She thought he was only referring to the snowball attack, but when the day came he figured she shouldn't be surprised.<p>

He waited for a day she had off before he decided to strike. It had been about a week, which gave him plenty of time to plan and her plenty of time to forget, or at least think he had forgotten. That way he had the element of surprise.

* * *

><p>Her morning started off at an unsightly hour. Receiving a phone call from her partner at 4:45am on another day, a day she was scheduled to work, was one thing. Receiving that phone call on her day off made the call a criminal offense.<p>

She let the phone go to voicemail the first time. If he really had something important to say at 4:45 in the morning, she reasoned he'd call back.

Unfortunately, he did exactly that. At 4:49am, after leaving a voicemail of gurgling sounds, her phone rang again. Squeezing her eyes and mouth into small slits, she rolled over to the side of the bed with the phone. As she pressed 'talk' she flopped onto her back. "What," she stated in a flat, groggy tone.

"Good morning, Bones!" She felt his voice was much to chipper for how early it was. Especially with how unenthused she was feeling. "We have—"

The connection was lost. She checked the reception on her phone and deduced that it was Booth's cellular connection. Instead of calling him back, she cradled the phone in her hand and rolled onto her side, hoping to go back to sleep. Right as she was about to do so, her phone rang again.

"Bones, can you hear me?"

She growled, "Unfortunately."

On the other end of the call, Booth smiled. "Great! We have a—"

The call was cut short again and the next time he called back, she let the phone ring. Awake from the phone calls and frustration, she eventually sat up and called him back. No answer. She tried again. He picked up, but clearly didn't realize it because all she heard was running water. The third time, he actually answered.

He begged her to meet him at the lab using his charming tone. Had he been there, she would have glared at him. She tried to refuse, but he complimented her and she fell into his trap. Before she could ask for a ride, the call was once again disconnected and she didn't feel like bothering to call him back _again_.

Her shower absolutely refused to warm up. She turned the heat on full blast but the temperature remained a steady degree of icy cold. Brennan chose to forego washing her hair to avoid a worse chill and made a mental note to check on the status of her utility bills.

While she knew a necklace would not change the outcome of her day, she decided to wear her favorite pendant. Maybe, just this once, if the ties worked for Booth, the necklace would work for her. Or so she hoped.

She searched fifteen minutes for her keys before giving up and calling a cab. They weren't in her purse, on the island, coffee table, or in her bedroom. To lock her apartment, she used one of her spare keys.

She wasn't happy by the time she arrived at the lab, but resolved to remain professional. As she walked through the doors, she took a deep breath and tried to start the day off on a new foot. Booth made that impossible the second she saw him.

When he saw her, he could tell all of his plans had worked thus far. He had successfully turned off her hot water and hidden her keys, and the fake dropped calls had annoyed her like he hoped.

"Bones, my woman!"

This time, she actually got to glare at him. "I am not a possession, Booth."

He shrugged and followed her to her office. Standing in the doorway, he watched her sit in her office chair with a straight face. With a little help from his son, he had two pranks planned with that chair. The second she sat down, the chair leaned back and startled Brennan. That added to the sounds of flatulence, as she later called them, and she was thoroughly embarrassed.

Booth fought a smirk, and put on his best "surprised" face. "You alright there?" Her cheeks turned crimson as she struggled to get the chair upright. When her attempts failed, he added, "You should get someone to check that out before you hurt your back."

She stood from the chair and recovered from being so flustered. The only saving grace was that Booth wasn't mentioning the bodily sound that he clearly presumed came from her. "Yes, that would be smart. Thank you."

His fingers toyed with something in his pockets. Brennan noticed, but brushed it off as a poker chip or dice. Then, every light in the building shut off. If she believed in such ludicrous and impossible things like fate and curses, Brennan thought she would consider this day cursed. After all, the strangest things were occurring.

Suddenly, whatever Booth had called her in for on her day off wasn't so important. He flicked his on lighter for illumination and suggested they head to the diner for some breakfast while the lights situation was figured out. As they were leaving, the fire sprinklers turned on and soaked their bodies. Running on a slippery floor in the dark in a lab with valuable equipment was not ideal. Brennan knew such a small emission of smoke should not have set off the sprinklers, but with how weird her day was, she didn't bother to worry over it.

Booth's heater was still on the fritz from when it had been broken the week prior, forcing Brennan to sit in her wet, white blouse and freeze throughout the duration of the drive to the diner. Booth did not seem to mind being wet if it meant Brennan unwillingly took part in a wet t-shirt competition. He hadn't planned _that_ but he also was _not_ complaining.

Much to her dismay, the diner was only serving pies that day as some part of holiday. Booth's eyes lit up and his face looked like one giant smile. Brennan could not begrudge her partner his dream come true, forcing her to sit and watch him stuff himself with pie. He even forced her to eat a few bites. She wasn't sure how he convinced her to.

When Booth was finally done eating his pie, they returned to the lab. The lights were working and the water had been cleaned up. As they were walking through the doors, Booth's phone rang and he quickly excused himself. Brennan returned to her office. She avoided her broken chair and took her laptop to her couch where she started on some paperwork as she waited for Booth to return and explain why he had desperately called her in.

In the middle of her thought, she heard an unfamiliar chorus of children singing about "foot" bones and "thigh" bones. Somebody had changed her ringtone, she deduced. She snatched her phone from her purse and answered the phone call. The line immediately went dead. This continued for another twenty minutes before she shut her phone off altogether. She could only hear the mistaken children sing so many times before she lost all patience.

Also unhappy with how long she was waiting for Booth, she left her office in search of him. Before she rounded a corner, she heard him and Wendell talking.

"So, the remotes worked alright," she heard Wendell ask.

Booth chuckled. "Everything went according to plan. She has no idea."

"Awesome," Wendell replied. "Dr. Saroyan wasn't happy about the sprinklers, but I was able to isolate only the front ones so nothing was damaged. She doesn't know it was us."

Having heard enough of their mischievous plans and gloating, Brennan revealed herself and both men immediately turned white. "Do you mean to tell me you woke me up on my day off without any cause?"

Wendell made the mistake of speaking—Booth knew better. "I wouldn't say it was wholly without cause, Dr. Brennan. Agent Booth had a very specific purpose."

After very pointedly looking at Booth, she turned to her intern. "A dozen unidentified remains have been shipped to the Jeffersonian and brought to Bone Storage for cataloging. I expect you to have detailed reports on all of them by seven am tomorrow morning. I suggest you get to work."

"Of course Dr. Brennan." Wendell nodded to Brennan and flashed Booth a helpless look.

Finally free of witnesses, Brennan turned her attention back to her partner. He saw her fury and attempted to distract her. "That was harsh, Bones."

If steam could come out of a person's ears and nostrils like cartoons, Brennan would be experiencing such a phenomenon. Booth couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image, which was a huge mistake. "April fools?"

It was February. One look at her and he knew he was in serious trouble, so he bolted. No way did he want to deal with the wrath of Temperance Brennan.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Post-AN:_**_ This concludes the first half of our journey. Thank you everyone for reviewing, adding this to your favorites, and following this story and the outtakes. Every last one of you have put a smile on my face. _


	14. Nebulous

_**Author's Note:**__ This is a series of "snapshots" that all illustrate the word. It's similar to "Brash," if you remember back that far, or "Lyrical," although they don't build of each other like those kind of did. I know which "snapshot" is my favorite, so I'd love to hear which one you like best! Thanks again._

_**Setting:**__ One takes place during "The Santa in the Slush" (S3E9) and another is during "Fire in the Ice" (S4E12). You can say the rest take place during various parts of S4._

**_Fun Fact:_**_ Zach used this term in the 100th episode. I'm sure it's been used other times, too, but still. Kudos to whoever can tell me what he was talking about when he used it! (No cheating). _

* * *

><p><strong>Nebulous<br>**_Unclear; vague; indefinite.  
><em>_When friends of the opposite sex spend an excessive amount of time together, it often becomes a rather nebulous and confusing thing._

* * *

><p>What had started out as a rational and professional business deal had quickly spun out of control. Initially, her hands lightly pinched the lapels of his jacket to bring them close enough for them to kiss, but within a matter of a few steamboats, she was tugging him closer for entirely other reasons.<p>

Suddenly, she couldn't get enough of him, or him of her. A frenzy had quickly begun inside of each of them and it was almost as if they struggled to fulfill their needs in such a short time, as if that was their moment and they were afraid there wouldn't be others.

Too soon for either of them, the allotted number of steamboats passed and they pulled away for air. If only they weren't at the lab, if only Caroline wasn't in the room, if only she would throw caution and reason to the wind, if only he wasn't afraid... if only that kiss never ended.

"It was like kissing my brother," she lied, trying to get the puckish attorney off her back and to alleviate the awkward tension between her and Booth.

"You sure must like your brother." Not only did the attorney not believe her, but her statement quite possibly made it more awkward between the parners. Especially with his answer:

"She does."

It was anything but kissing her brother, and while her relationship had certainly improved with Russ, she did not like her brother and her partner in the same way. But, by spending so much time with each other, it was becoming equally hard to properly separate what was acceptable between partners and what was off limits.

* * *

><p>"So, what's your guys' secret?"<p>

Booth and Brennan looked at each other in confusion before turning back to the officer. "Secret?" Booth prompts.

Brennan chose to resume signing the paperwork so they could start their trip back to D.C. She had quickly grown accustomed to the small town officers having questions for the FBI hotshot and usually chooses to ignore them.

The officer nodded. "You know, for being able to work _and_ sleep together."

She was more amused than she was surprised. People often mistake them as a couple. What they share with each other, their unnatural attachment and connection, goes far beyond friendship. A lot of the time, she doesn't know exactly how much further. Sometimes, she doesn't know the difference between when he is looking at her as his friend and partner, or when he is looking at her as something else. Then again, he can't say he knows either.

They looked at each other again and she asked, "Why do people always think that?" But, deep down, a part of her knows the answer.

It's because she feels so much closer to him than friendship allows.

* * *

><p>They could say whatever they wanted, but Angela Montenegro was a woman who would always see through their thin-veiled guises. They could use their lines—"We're just partners, Angela" or "We're strictly professional"—but nothing would deter the artist.<p>

Personally, she's convinced there is a lot more going on between the two than either of them are willing to admit. She's not frustrated that her friend didn't tell her, or even that they want to keep it between them. Instead, Angela is peeved that they pretend nothing is happening... and that Hodgins has clearly rubbed off on her.

When friends of the opposite sex spend an excessive amount of time together, it often becomes a rather confusing thing for both parties involved, even those outside of the nebulous friendship. Sometimes, their whirlwind relationship, or lack thereof, baffles Angela. But she also knows that's just how they are.

As she watches the two share a moment through the windows of her friend's office, she sighs. She can see the hesitation before Booth reaches across Brennan's lap to grab a file, and the awkward pause as they look at each other with wide eyes. Brennan proceeded to find the piece of paper in front of her especially interesting. Booth cleared his throat and loosened his tie, clearly affected by the tension between the two.

_Maybe nothing is happening,_ she admits to herself. _But there sure is a whole lot of "happening" for "nothing happening."_

* * *

><p>Of all possibilities, it was a concussion that brought them closer. It wasn't a near death experience or therapy-induced realization. Instead, it was a result of Booth getting slammed onto the ice with too much force.<p>

Concussions were not anything new to the former athlete, and so he knew how boring and challenging it could be to stay awake for such a long time. Initially, he wasn't looking forward to it, until she insisted on observing him. Then, he was actually glad he had an excuse to spend uninterrupted hours with her. She didn't think it was a good idea for him to go on the ice, but he used his charm on her and she gave in.

She immediately fell and he quickly skated over to pick her up. His actions could have easily taken them both down onto the ice, but his movements were fluid and natural. Without noticing it, her hand found his and she tightly gripped his index finger. Even through her gloves, he could feel the burn of her touch. It was exhilarating.

She would drift away, and occasionally stumble, but she always drifted closer to him after. He was her teacher, helping her learn to skate, and her guardian, helping her when she stumbled, much like their actual lives.

He enjoyed hearing her squeals of fear when he let go and her infectious laughter of pride when she skated on her own.

When the mood turned serious, she was back at his side as his own savior, hooking her arms through his and dispelling his demons.

He thought her touch went further than the realm of partners or just friends, as did his feelings. Sometimes, he can't discern the line, can't tell where they stand. But, in that moment, he allowed himself to simply be happy she was at his side.


	15. Omnipresent

_**Author's Note:** This is one of those chapters where it went where it pleased. If you think the beginning of this isn't happy, you should've seen the original draft. Even I hate myself for writing what I did. So, I changed it and tried to make it less depressing. BUT, I promise the next two will be the antithesis of this one—happy and adorable! _

**_Warning:_**_ Like I said in the A/N, this isn't the happiest. Not the saddest thing I've ever written, but it's not rainbows, butterflies, and ice cream sundaes either. Happy ending though! Also, I'm hoping to stick to my posting schedule, but life started back up this week, so Mondays and Wednesdays may be a bit hairy at times, meaning posted in the evenings or early mornings instead of the afternoons. _

**_Setting: _**_No specific cannon timeline, except that it takes place after S4 finale. Booth and Brennan have been in a relationship for a while now. No baby on the way or anything. _

* * *

><p><strong>Omnipresent<br>**_Ubiquity; the property of being present everywhere._

* * *

><p>It was almost like she was mocking him; he feels her presence everywhere. From when he wakes up in the morning to when he falls asleep after a long day at work.<p>

On his coffee table is the bottle cap from the last set of beers they shared together before she left. In his kitchen he keeps finding new spices and recipe cards. On the coatrack by his front door is one of her jackets, I.D. card still attached. In his bathroom, a bottle of lotion sits on the counter that he has been known to occasionally open and smell.

He hasn't changed her personalized temperature settings in his SUV or how she positioned her seat. Whenever someone new sits in the front seat, like Sweets or Cam, he always makes sure they don't touch anything. The sixth preset channel on the radio is still set to the station she insisted on, which they initially bickered over. He likes listening to the station to remember how much she enjoys the songs the jockey plays.

Sometimes he swears he sees her on the platform. Every time somebody swipes their key card, he turns to see if it is her. Her blue lab coat is still on the peg in her office, which even Cam refuses to use in her absence. Her influence over the interns is still there, even when she isn't.

Interrogation feels empty without her by his side. When Sweets talks into his earpiece, he occasionally pauses for her input before realizing that she isn't there to give it. The bobble head from their trip to Britain brings back memories of taking her arm and escorting her into the sunlight like any good, gallant knight would do.

But, it is his bedroom that hurts him the most. As he wakes up in the morning, his eyes still closed, he smells her on the pillow next to him. When he opens his eyes, though, he is reminded that she is not actually lying next to him.

After being reminded of her all day, he lies next to that same un-used pillow in unease, filled with sadness time after time.

He wasn't always lonely. She used to be there when he woke up and when he fell asleep. She used to be there at the end of the day to hang up her coat and share a set of drinks. He used to watch her rub lotion on her legs before bed. He used to tuck her head under his chin to fall asleep.

She used to ride in his SUV with him and bicker and debate and crack jokes and not understand pop culture references. She used to sing along with him to Foreigner and laugh at his lack of tonal ability.

She was there to talk his head off with details about complex squinty things and to always simplify it, or at least try to. He used to find her working away in her office, so focused sometimes she didn't notice him, or forgot to eat.

She used to ask questions without any grace and rile up suspects with him. Together, they laughed at Sweets' childish behavior and inexperience. They took trips to Britain and China with each other, not alone.

She was actually in bed next to him instead of just her scent. Her warmth always reminded him.

And then she had to leave. One of what Booth sarcastically calls her "I'm going to change history" trips. It was scheduled to only be about eight months, but by the end of the first week, Booth's spirits were lower than ever. He had become so used to having her by his side, whether at work or at home, that being apart was detrimental.

When she was home with him, she consumed him in a different way. Everywhere he went, if she wasn't with him, she was in his thoughts. She consumed his dreams and was always at the back of his mind. She was his everything.

Now, he felt like he had nothing.

* * *

><p>When he first saw her again, he thought it was a fluke.<p>

When the platform security pole beeped, he turned around and saw her. Her hair was shorter, her skin was golden, and he was seeing her a week before she was scheduled to return. At first, he thought he was dreaming. Then, he thought he was hallucinating, and worried about his mental health. And then she spoke.

"I missed you."

For a moment, he was still convinced he was hallucinating. Her voice sounded better than he remembered. Her smile was even brighter and made her look even more beautiful. His memories had done her no justice.

Luckily, Cam and Angela were the ones on the platform with him, and they both knew to quietly leave. When Booth didn't budge, Brennan walked over to him. She stood close enough so they were standing toe to toe.

Her scent was stronger than that of his bed, putting his senses into overdrive. He took in every line of her face, and studied how her newly cut hair fell onto her face. Everything was so familiar yet so new. Something about her was different, but he was so overjoyed to see her again that he couldn't place it.

It was like purpose had been breathed back into his body. He no longer felt slow and old, but rejuvenated and alive. Gone was the upsetting countdown and discouragement from not being able to talk to her.

Once the shock wore off, he took her hands. He didn't even bother to stop his silly grin from spreading over his features. When she smiled, he felt at home again.

Finally, she was actually there. Finally, after so long, he could stop walking around feeling like a ghost of her presence was following him. Finally, he could have her step into his arms for real.


	16. Proud

_**Author's Note:** I wanted to stray as much as I could from the baby stuff, but this one (and maybe the one after it, hint hint) begged to be written. I couldn't help myself. I don't love the name I used, but I needed a name, so just ignore that detail._

**_Setting:_**_ Post S6 finale, and sometime well into the future after it._

* * *

><p><strong>Proud<br>**_Characterized by or proceeding from a sense of pride: a proud moment._

* * *

><p>The faint echo of eager footsteps alerted Brennan that her daughter was awake and the small ball of energy was bounding her way.<p>

It was part of their daily routine. Brennan would wake up first to shower. After she got dressed, she would start a pot of coffee and gather everything for the day. Then, as Booth showered, she would divide snacks into containers and juices into cups. Once he was dressed, he helped his daughter get ready before joining Brennan in the kitchen for coffee.

This morning, he stayed back to watch the interaction between the two. He watched the toddler enthusiastically pull on her mother's pant leg, signaling she wanted to be held. Brennan complied, effortlessly pulled her up, and settled the girl on her hip before pouring coffee into one of her travel mugs.

Booth heard Brennan ask how the young girl slept before a barrel full of babbles flew from the tiny mouth. Neither parent understood all of what she said, but paid rapt attention; her joy was infectious. Booth stifled a laugh as to remain unnoticed when he saw Brennan's eyebrows furrow in confusion and quickly correct themselves as not to offend the child.

Sometimes, he prefers watching the two interact more than being a part of it. They both talk with such vivid enthusiasm when it comes to topics they are passionate about. This morning it is clearly little Abigail's dream that makes her messy, auburn waves bounce. Brennan does not once interrupt the girl and tell her that talking animals are impossible or that half of the words she says aren't words. She doesn't try to teach any lesson. Instead, as an anthropologist, she observes, and as a mother, she takes interest in what her child takes interest in. Of that, Booth is proud.

"Mama," the quiet voice asks. Brennan looks at the girl in her arms. "Mama cup."

Brennan chuckles. "You are far too young for coffee. How about juice?"

As stubborn as her mother, she kicked her feet and shook her head, trying to squirm out of Brennan's arms. Her rosy cheeks were no longer innocent and cute, but reminiscent of her mother's fire. "No 'uce." She pointed to the coffee machine. "That. Cow-fee."

This time Booth couldn't help but audibly laugh at their daughter's vocabulary. She could also say "fwies," "'oodles," and "pie."

Brennan's eyes lit up and the girl giggled. "Alright," she acquiesced. Booth irrationally feared that she was going to put coffee in a sippy cup before she saw her put the child down and walk to the refrigerator. She pulled out the two-year-old's sippy cup with Dalmatians that had soy milk in it for later that day.

"Dog!" Abigail bounced upon recognizing her favorite cup. "Dog! Dog, Mama! Dog!"

"Yes, dog." Brennan paused to pull cocoa powder from the pantry to make the milk look brown, and to change the flavor. "And what sound does a dog make?"

She continued bouncing as she replied, "Woof! Mama, woof woof!"

Booth finally made his presence known. He scoped the girl off the ground bridal style and blew on her stomach. The child squealed in laughter. "That's right, Abs."

Brennan glared over her shoulder. "Booth." Her tone was warning as she continued. It was like getting scolded by a smoking-hot librarian for talking too loud in the non-fiction section. "Don't call her that."

He rolled his eyes to elicit a response from his daughter. "Alright, Bones."

Abigail pointed to Brennan, momentarily ignoring her earlier coffee request. "Bone," she said. "You Bone, Mama. You, Bone. Me, Abby."

Booth passed her to Brennan so he could get himself coffee. "I still cannot believe her first word was bone." Shaking his head, he looked at Brennan. "She's going to be a squint!"

Brennan glared, but he saw the small teasing smile and he knew she was joking when she said, "I blame you. For a while, she only called me Bones!"

The child in question was clearly used to their banter and entertained herself when Brennan set her back down. She begun naming parts of her body. Brennan chimed in when Abigail said, "Finger," by answering, "Phalange."

Booth rolled his eyes at the game the two played before handing both girls their respective cups to help get them moving. They had to get to the lab to drop Abigail off with her and Michael's nanny.

Abigail's face lit up when Booth handed her the Dalmatian cup. "Dadadadada! Cow-fee like Mama! Big girl!"

Booth smiled and nodded in agreement. "Big girl," he repeated, lightly touching her nose with his index finger.

The parents smiled at each other as they walked out of the apartment. Every day they were amazed at how smart she was becoming and proud of how good of a daughter she was. When they did finally get to the lab, Abigail's little legs ran all around, showing the rest of her family how she was a big girl. As she followed her daughter around the lab, Brennan had never felt so proud in her life. It wasn't some grand moment like taking first place at a science fair or graduating college, but knowing that she somehow was doing everything right was far more worthy.


	17. Quantifiable

_**Author's Note:**_ _This includes a game I used to play with my own mother. When I saw the second definition on a website, I couldn't help myself. It's similar to "Proud," but I couldn't resist. Seems I never can. _

**_Setting:_**_ Well past "The Change in the Game" (S6 finale). Well after I have written this, (about two months after), and I have started hearing baby spoilers, so disregard those. _

* * *

><p><strong>Quantifiable<br>**_Able to be determined or measured; able to be expressed in quantitative terms, or as a numerical equivalent.  
><em>_The depth of a mother's love for her child, like the depth of space, is too large to be quantifiable._

* * *

><p>There was a time in her life when Dr. Temperance Brennan, word-renowned forensic anthropologist and multiple-time bestseller, did not want to be a mother.<p>

With so much focus on her demanding occupation, she could not give the allotted time to take care of someone so fully dependent on her. She also did not look fondly at the idea of someone depending on her period. Later she decided her aversion to child rearing was partially that, while physically and financially equipped to be a mother, she did not think it was anything she would excel at.

She does not see a broken tibia as simply a broken leg, does not call phalanges "fingers," and refuses to purchase toys that are incorrect in structure, ratio, or color. If all of those things equate to being a good mother, then she would be the opposite by nature.

Then, all of the sudden, she found herself attached to a child and ready to adopt. When that fell through, she was prepared to undergo in vitro fertilization and birth a child herself. That, too, never happened. For the time, having a child was put on the back burner. When she did get pregnant, nearly two years later, it wasn't that it was out of the question, it just was not exactly in it, either.

So, nearly five years after abandoning in vitro, she found herself in the dairy section of the grocery store with a two and a half year old son sitting in the cart.

"Momma," he lazily said, his little fist reaching for her necklace. She granted him a quick smile before continuing the search for the particular flavor coffee creamer her partner liked. He reached to grab more of her necklace to earn her undivided attention. When he accidentally tugged on her hair, something she was used to, she looked down at him. "Momma, I love you!"

Like his father, his smile captured her heart. She leaned down and gave him butterfly kisses, something Booth taught her, before arching her eyebrows in anticipation. He tried not to giggle with the knowledge of what was to come. Booth would usually say, "I love you, Little Man," but Brennan always refrained from using that incorrect appellation. Instead, she replied, "I love you too, Growing Boy."

He laughed, his little feet kicking, making him bounce in the seat. "I love you more!"

Brennan's eyes widened in pretend shock. "I don't think so."

"Yes! Yes," the little boy squealed. A small amount of drool pooled on his shirt.

She shook her head. "Highly improbable," she teased.

He nodded, sure of his victory. "Yes! Yes!"

"I love you more, she chuckled as he lightly tickled his tummy with her fingers. Many people in the store looked over as the boy screamed and laughed.

He shook his head and regained his breath. "More, more, mo'e, mo'e, mo'e," he repeated, trying to say 'more' more times than his mom. It would be an easy victory for Brennan as her lungs had a larger capacity for air, but the excitement on his face and joyous triumph he always exuberated when he won was worth feigning exhaustion to see.

Plus, no amount of 'mores' could properly measure how much she loved her son, nor could she imagine a happy and full life without him. After all, the depth of a mother's love for her child, like the depth of space, is too large to be quantifiable.


	18. Rainy

_**Author's Note: **This is not a song-fic. I actually noticed the song and chapter fit way after I wrote it. This song, for whatever reason, just really gets me sometimes. Kid you not, more times than not, it makes me cry. Weird, right? You all should recognize it from the S6 finale. _

_**"Hankie Alert": **(To steal the term from a friend) This one is a tiny bit sadder, but I hope you give it a chance. It still shows love between the two. _

**_Setting:_**_ This could be sometime far in the future, or it could just be un-cannon. There's a minor character's death, but it's not anyone big (i.e.: in the title sequence or a Squintern), I promise. _

**_Disclaimer: _**_Don't own the song or the show._

* * *

><p><strong>Rainy<br>**_Wet with rain: rainy streets._

_**"**When the rain is blowing in your face,_  
><em>And the whole world is on your case,<em>  
><em>I can offer you a warm embrace,<em>  
><em>To make you feel my love.<strong>"<strong>_

-_Make You Feel My Love by Adele_

* * *

><p>Bare branches from the surrounding trees made smacking noises with a gust of wind. The few leaves left on the trees were whipped off and begun spinning to the ground in a small, circular motion. The grass was wet, the mud unforgiving to those who had walked in it.<p>

It was an interim, one of the moments between bouts of rain. With only a light mist blowing in her face, she knew it was tears that streamed down her cheeks.

She wasn't alone—everyone was behind her in the Hodgins' mansion—yet she had never felt so lonely. She knew if she needed someone, she had her friends—her _family_. She knew if she just looked through the window at Angela, her best friend would immediately join her outside. She knew her brother and his family would all hug her and attempt to make her feel loved. Sweets would say he understood and he would be there for her to talk if she needed.

Even though all of their responses would be the right ones in any other situation for any other person, she avoided them all. She felt as if she was suffocating every time someone hugged her. People look to her for rational reactions and reasonable answers, and every time somebody asked her how she was doing she felt forced to keep up her appearance. After all, she was once the woman who said people had to move on from sad times, that it was pointless to get upset.

There was one person she thought would know what to do and what to say, but whenever her pale blue eyes met his warm brown orbs, tears threatened to spill over. He would see her real pain and she didn't her vulnerability exposed.

She had changed, had grown in multiple areas of her life. She learned how to be more personable and friendly, how to comfort someone when they're upset, and that sometimes emotions are what Booth claimed "the rational thing" to experience. The latter was still new to her, and therefore was making her uncomfortable.

Now, surrounded by trees and bushes instead of family members and coworkers, she gasped for a much needed breath. Everything was overwhelming, causing her to panic. Before her airway constricted fully, she found a wrought iron bench and sat down. As the rain started to pick up, she placed her head between her knees and focused on taking deep breaths.

Her hair stuck to her damp face and the shirt underneath her coat wrinkled. She moved her tongue around in her mouth and tasted bile. She didn't want to face everyone looking how she did, even to get her keys.

She lifted her head from her lap and turned towards the sky, allowing the rain to cool her hot skin. She was bound to get drenched, especially with how hard the downpour was turning out to be, but she didn't care. She simply did not care.

With the sounds of the storm holding her attention, she barely heard him call her name. She sensed his presence, though; that, she was always aware of.

Neither of them said a word as he sat next to her on the bench. She didn't open her eyes or make any movement. He knew exactly what she needed, even though she thought it was exactly what would make her worse.

Silently, he tucked her shoulders under his arm. With his other hand he slid his fingers between hers and squeezed. His gaze begged her to look at him, but she knew she would cry harder. Quiet tears were humiliating enough.

He weathered the storm with her, knowing there was no use trying to move her. She would pretend she wasn't hurting and try to brush off the tears, and he would brave everything with her. After a while, he lifted their entwined fingers under her chin. She opened her eyes and allowed her last piece of armor to fall to the floor. With a sigh, he turned their bodies towards each other and he wrapped her in a hug. Into his chest, she sobbed.

He pretended to only hear the wind blowing the trees and the rain hitting the pavement. He pretended to only hear the earth's storm and not the woman's. He pretended for her, but he also pretended for himself. Tears of his own were falling in his heart like they were on that rainy day. He hated seeing her upset, but he hated seeing her try and shove away her feelings even more.

They both felt guilty. She felt bad for sobbing into his chest, for making him deal with her broken heart. He felt responsible for her pain; maybe if he hadn't pushed her and her father back into a relationship she wouldn't be so heartbroken by his passing.

He needed to make things right. He needed to help her through the hard time. The first and most important step was making her feel _loved_. Everyone in the house behind them loved her, but by trying to make life easier, he could sense that she felt pressured and overwhelmed. Instead, he wouldn't say anything. He wouldn't ask how she was holding up and wouldn't fuss the second she looked upset. All he would do was wrap her in his arms and wait it out with her. All he would do was try to show her how much he loves and cares about her.

When her cries turned into hiccups, he rubbed her back and kissed the crown of her head. When he heard her sniffle, he handed her a tissue. When the wind chilled her wet body, he rubbed her arms to bring warmth back. Anything, and he would do it. Anything to lift her spirits on the rainy day. Anything to make her feel loved.


	19. Suburban

_**Author's Note:** What I've written for this chapter could very easily become a full-fledged story, which is why the ending may seem somewhat abrupt. There were so many possibilities of what to write that I didn't know how to end it! It's longer than most, so buckle your seat belts and find a comfortable chair, maybe even a bowl popcorn to go with it. _

**_Setting:_**_ Sometime after the S5 premiere "Harbingers in a Fountain." Nothing else really matters/happens past Booth's coma and realizing his deep, passionate love for his partner. -sigh-_

**_Fun Fact:_**_ I hate the movie "The Princess Bride." Love Inigo Montoya and the whole "as you wish" thing, but the rest of it... I could do without the rest of it. _

* * *

><p><strong>Suburban<br>**_Domestic; "the good life."  
>The house in the suburbs with the white picket fence and 2.5 kids. That's the suburban life.<em>

* * *

><p>"With the power invested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride."<p>

Three sets of eyes widened. They looked at each other in confusion before looking at the woman who had just uttered those alarming words in her typical snarky tone of voice.

Hodgins, who was explaining his analysis of some particulates before Sweets and Caroline interrupted them, was the first to break the silence. "Congratulations?" Looking at Brennan, he added, "When did you decide to marry Booth?"

Brennan, the master of composure and rationality, was able to come up with a response. Booth, on the other hand, felt like time was moving way too slow and couldn't come up with the words to ask either Sweets or the puckish prosecutor what was going on. "I never agreed to marry Booth," she stated matter-of-factly.

They turned their gazes back to each other. Brennan quirked an eyebrow and Booth cleared his throat. Simultaneously, they looked at Sweets.

After a pause, Caroline smiled and explained their fate. As he watched their expressions, Sweets couldn't help but think of how much fun this was going to be.

* * *

><p>For Booth, the situation was uncomfortable because of how fresh the dream during his coma was in his mind. The thought of being married to his partner for a cover was somewhat unnerving to him. He was already struggling with his feelings and now he had to channel them, pretend he was in love with her for their cover, and then switch back to pretending that he didn't love her.<p>

The whole thing was throwing him for a loop.

It was similar for Brennan. She had been choosing all along to ignore his dream and her discarded book. It was too soon for her, too. It wasn't the fact that they were going undercover as a married couple—it wouldn't be the first time—but not even she could deny that it would be different.

Sweets was excited. He couldn't wait to watch them interact in such a domestic setting, especially with what he knew about them and what was going on between the two. It had taken some serious convincing and string-pulling with the higher ups, but he had convinced Hacker that it would be invaluable for Booth and Brennan to have him tag along.

Needless to say, Booth was in a fairly fowl mood by the time they arrived at their new house at the end of the Sunny Lane cul-de-sac. He certainly was feeling anything but sunny. The trip had been tense between him and Brennan, and Sweets' incessant chatter had driven him crazy.

Then, when the first thing he saw when he walked in was a giant photo-shopped portrait of "him" and "Brennan" on "their wedding day," he definitely wanted to shoot something. Or, more specifically, the giant picture mounted on the wall.

It was awkward. As the three of them walked through the front hallway of their temporary home, every shift of their clothing's fabric was heard. Sweets, for once, had nothing to say. His mouth was agape, his eyes wide.

Booth and Brennan absolutely refused to make eye contact, but kept stealing sideway glances at each other. When their eyes did accidentally meet, Booth coughed and Brennan commented on how great the natural lighting was.

Finally, Sweets found his tongue. "Wow. That's… really something."

The duo turned around to face Sweets. Booth glared at him. Before Booth could threaten Sweets of his life for any more comments about the various forged pictures of the "couple," the doorbell rang.

The agent inwardly sighed of relief for literally being saved by the bell before he realized he would have to answer it. He looked at Brennan as Sweets quickly made his way to another room.

"We can do this," he said, more for himself than for her. "We're a happily married couple, excited to be living here with my nephew."

Brennan plastered on a smile and intertwined her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand, took a deep breath, put on a fake smile of his own, and opened the door.

* * *

><p>A day of meeting and greeting their new, friendly neighbors had worn Booth out. The emotional toll it took on him was more than he wanted. Brennan, too, was tired and grumpy because of how plastic everyone had acted.<p>

None of it phased Sweets. He had examined the house and unpacked his stuff. For a while, he looked through all the satellite channels they were getting and set up a Skype date with Daisy. A few times he had to play nice with the neighbors when they were at the door, but he was mostly spared.

Booth couldn't say the same for himself.

From his spot next to Sweets on the couch, his stomach growled. Brennan stood from her seat and went into the kitchen, happy for a distraction. When she found the panty cupboards and refrigerator empty, she sighed. A grocery trip was required.

After Booth and Sweets argued about who should go, all three of them ended back up in the SUV. At the grocery store, Sweets went his separate way, leaving Brennan and Booth to find food for themselves.

Brennan got a lot of vegan and vegetarian stuff, like Grapeseed Vegenaise and organic cream cheese. She loaded up on plenty of greens and healthy choices. Booth, on the other hand, added real cheese and white bread into their basket.

As they were walking down the cereal isle, Brennan debated if she really wanted any cereal, but Booth went straight for a big box of Cocoa Puffs and Lucky Charms. As he started to throw them in with everything else, Brennan slapped his wrist.

"Those cereals are high in sugar and are very bad for you, Booth."

He rolled his eyes and put the boxes in anyways. With his hands on his hips, he whined, "I'm a healthy, grown man."

"Sugar also inhibits the body from properly absorbing calcium and magnesium. It also has been proven to cause premature aging, gallstones, and hemorrhoids."

"Geeze, Bones." Looking around, he saw a mother quickly direct her child away from the cereal isle. "We're in a public place. There's no need to be talking about hemorrhoids at a grocery store," he hissed.

She gave him a stern look and held his gaze until he gave in and grudgingly removed the boxes. He replaced them with boring Cheerios instead.

Sweets found them before the conversation could continue. For the rest of the trip and drive back, Booth periodically looked at Brennan and shook his head.

When they arrived back home, though, he dutifully helped unload and put away the majority of the groceries. He wasn't pleased she hadn't let him get three-fourths of his snacks, but there was no way he was going to make her do all the work just because she was the woman and their cover was a married couple.

She drew the line at cooking, though, claiming it was a lot less distracting and much more productive without him in the kitchen. While she cooked, he set the table for three. With Sweets upstairs doing whatever he was doing, both Booth and Brennan couldn't help but notice how normal and domestic the situation felt.

Brennan quietly cooking, Booth setting up the table… the silence was comfortable and relaxing. It didn't feel weird for that moment; it just felt right.

The young psychologist's presence, however, interrupted their peace. When he came back downstairs he started commenting about how great everything smelled. He also wanted to pry for information about their plan of action to stop the serial killer. The partners wanted nothing to do with it at the moment, Booth claiming it wasn't important for Sweets to know.

As they all sat down at the table, Booth looked at Brennan and squeezed her wrist. "Thanks for dinner, Bones."

She smiled. Maybe it wouldn't be so awkward after all.

* * *

><p>"So what now?"<p>

Booth turned around from the sink to look at Sweets who was practically bouncing on the couch like a nine year old. He turned back towards the pan he was rinsing and shrugged. "I figure once Bones is done talking to Cam and Hodgins she'll want to discuss the case."

That killed Sweets' excitement. Booth was happy Sweets wasn't as excited, but was frustrated he wasn't taking it seriously. They were undercover to solve a string of murders occurring in newer suburbs, not to vacation with each other.

"I was thinking we could play some board games, maybe watch a movie afterwards? There's this movie about aliens taking over and a group of soldiers trying to save some humans. It's supposed to be epic."

Booth turned off the water and dried his hands on a towel. He walked to the fridge and got three beers before joining Sweets in the adjoining living room. He turned the TV onto a game and waited for Brennan to join them. Hopefully, with her on his side, they could get Sweets to stop talking and actually enjoy the rest of their night.

Before Booth could say a word, Sweets jumped off of the couch and startled Brennan when she walked into the room. "Dr. Brennan! I found some board games that I think we would enjoy playing. Would you like to join Agent Booth and I?"

The partners looked at each other. Booth handed her her beer and lightly shrugged. She understood what he was saying. She gave him a look that implied that they should indulge him.

"Fine," Booth answered for her. "We'll play a game—one—and then we get to chose a movie."

Sweets considered the offer before pulling two boxes from the nearby cabinet, clearly disregarding Booth's conditions. He set up Rock'em Sock'em Robots on the coffee table. "Winner plays Booth," he declared.

Within no more than ten seconds, Sweets' robot's head popped off. Unwilling to lose so quickly, he decided to make it best two out of three. He lost again.

With a cocky grin, Booth took his place at the red robot. He cracked his knuckles and said, "You're going down, Bones."

Before Sweets made a bell noise, Brennan's blue robot started punching Booth's. He quickly recovered and started blocking himself before putting up a fight. She won.

Second round, they started at the same time. She bit her lip in concentration as they brawled. Booth noticed, and was slightly distracted, but still managed to pop the head up on her robot before she did his.

In the final round, they both intensely stared at each other while they waited for Sweets to start the round. Booth tried to pretend to start so she would get thrown off, but she was too smart to fall for it. Brennan, too, played dirty, purposefully leaning over the table so his concentration would go elsewhere. He cleared his throat. When Sweets finally made his silly 'ding' noise, Brennan was quick to win. With a big smile on her face, she laughed.

Booth groaned when Sweets insisted on playing a second game, let alone his choice. Clue. Of all games, Sweets chose Clue. Admittedly, Sweets chose the game with psychological purpose. He wanted to see their responses.

After he explained the rules to Brennan, she scowled. "This game is unrealistic. Solving a murder is much more than guesswork and a juvenile process of elimination. There is no evidence or motives for anything."

Sweets smiled at her response. It was exactly what he had predicted. He also expected Booth's reaction to her statements.

He lied, "Come on, Bones. It'll be fun!" He gave her one of his grins, to which she gave him the same, and agreed to play.

Sweets didn't try his hardest to win the game. He was much more interested in the repartee between the two. They were so engrossed in the game, mostly focused on beating the other, and seemed to be truly enjoying themselves. The tension he had picked up on earlier seemed to have dissolved once he put them back in their element.

They both took note of everyone's guesses and used their knowledge to fill in the blanks. When Sweets guessed Mr. Green in the Conservatory with the rope, Booth was able to know that Brennan showed him Mr. Green because he had the other two items marked off. They figured out the answer at the same time, but because she had gone first, she beat him.

After Sweets cleaned up the game, Brennan settled herself on the couch with a blanket and popcorn. Booth was looking through the movies that the FBI had left for them, trying to find something they could agree on. Brennan wanted to watch some documentary but Booth refused. She suggested some random murder mystery, but he decided that anything involving murder was out. He did _not_ want to sit and listen to her correct the entire film.

"How about The Princess Bride," he suggested. "It's a classic."

He could hear the shrug in her voice. "I've never heard of it."

Booth turned around. "You've never heard of The Princess Bride?" When she nodded her head, he threw his hands up in the air. "It's one of the best movies of all time!" His mind was made. He put in the disc and pressed play. She clearly needed a lot more movie education than he originally thought.

Sweets turned off the lights as Booth joined Brennan on the couch. He feigned exhaustion and excused himself from the room, leaving the partners alone. Booth gave him an appreciative smile.

At some point, Booth moved his hand to rest in on her ankle that was resting next to his thigh. When she felt his touch, she looked away from the screen and at him. His touch was intimate and put them into uncharted territory, but she quickly found she enjoyed the contact.

* * *

><p>Brennan tried to hide it, but by the time the movie was over she was half asleep. Her attempt was futile as Booth easily spot her lie and helped her up from the couch. As they walked up the stairs, he realized he hadn't checked out their sleeping arrangements, which he soon learned was a mistake.<p>

At the end of the hallway was the master bedroom. The other doors led to Sweets' room and their office with stuff they needed for their real jobs. They came to the conclusion that they would be sharing a bed at the same time and started to speak over the other.

"I can sleep downstairs on the couch," Booth suggested as he walked into the room and opened his suitcase.

Brennan passed him to head into the bathroom. "We're adults, Booth," he heard her say. "We've shared a bed before. I fail to see why this time would be any different."

She had lied. She knew it would be different. So did he. Against his better judgment, he found himself climbing into bed next to her, leaving as much space between them as he could. When they woke up the next morning, they avoided eye contact and awkwardly removed themselves from their compromising position.

It was going to be a long assignment.


	20. Ticklish

_**Author's Note:**__ Someone, a long time ago, said they hoped they saw more of Parker. Here's a pinch of Parker with a gallon of Booth and Brennan "ness." By the way, Booth's Steelers got creamed yesterday, but the Chargers and Packers won their games! Booth needs consoling that I cannot provide him... _

**_Setting:_**_ Are you still surprised when I say there's no particular timeline because it's irrelevant, but that the end of S6 definitely did not happen? If so, I apologize. I hope you get used to it after this chapter._

* * *

><p><strong>Ticklish<br>**_Sensitive to being tickled, causing one to laugh and twitch under another's fingers._

* * *

><p>It was a sunny Saturday, predicted to be D.C.'s hottest day of the year, so when he called her around lunchtime, she wasn't at all surprised.<p>

He had Parker that weekend and apparently _Parker_ was wondering if she would like to join them for a swim. When Brennan heard his enthusiastic voice in the background, she chuckled and agreed. Sitting by the pool with a cold drink and the latest volume of her _American Journal of Physical Anthropology _sounded like a pleasurable way to spend her leisure time.

It wasn't only reading she found herself looking forward to, though. Against her better judgement, and will, Brennan was excited to see Booth. She tried to rationalize her sudden adrenaline kick of excitement. Initially, she claimed it was attributed to the prospect of spending time with Parker, but she knew that wasn't it. While she greatly enjoys studying the boy, and likes watching him and his father interact, she knew it was really Booth that was to blame.

She always has fun with him outside of work. Even when they simply share a beer and talk, she enjoys their time together.

No more than thirty minutes later, both Booth males were at the door clad in swim trunks. Under one of Booth's arms was a cooler with food and non-earwax flavored beer. Under the other were pool flotation devices. Parker also had toys and a backpack of clothes.

When she heard the knock, she quickly walked to the door and threw her hair into a messy bun. Booth and Parker came in for a moment to give their arms a rest and leave the backpack with dry clothing. After grabbing most of Brennan's stuff along with his own, Booth motioned for everyone to head out.

When they got to the pool, the partners helped rub Parker's sunscreen in. Brennan tried to get out of putting sunscreen on herself, but Booth adamantly refused, saying it was setting a bad example for his son. Grudgingly, she sat at the foot of a lounge chair and Booth sat behind her, his legs on either side of her body.

Gently, his hands massaged sunscreen along her shoulder blades. The small circular pattern affected Brennan and she quickly found herself relaxing under his touch. As his hands moved higher, she stretched her neck to one side, exposing more skin. When he hit a sensitive spot, he felt her gasp.

Abruptly, they both realized how far past the line they had traveled. Booth cleared his throat and jumped up from his seat. Brennan also stood up and waved the bottle at him. "Your turn?"

He refrained from cringing at the thought, turned his back to her, and removed his shirt. She had thought a distraction would help them both, but soon discovered the one she chose would only make it worse.

"Ah!" He jumped away from her touch, startled by the cool temperature of the lotion. "Cold, Bones," he accused, turning around to look at her.

After he instructed her to rub her hands together, she tried again. Her palms roamed along his back, occasionally rubbing the top of his shoulders and strong muscles. She now knew just how defined he really was.

Before they could have another tense moment, Booth headed straight to the pool and jumped into the lightly chilled, but not chilled enough for Booth, water. Brennan watched Booth and Parker play for a few minutes before laying out her towel and settling down with her pen, highlighter, and scholarly journal.

She was in the middle of an article that was attempting to discredit a technique she discovered when Booth got out of the pool and dripped water all over her. When she looked up, she scowled. He winked. She then turned back to her reading before he once again stole her attention. "Parker thinks you could make a bigger splash than me."

Brennan's gaze moved to the child in question and then looked back at Booth. "His hypothesis is incorrect. The ratio of water displacement—"

"It's Saturday, Bones. No physics." He stood from the chair next to her and held out his hand. "Come on, Parker wants to judge a cannonball competition."

She cocked her head to the side and furrowed her eyebrows. "I don't know what that means," she admitted as she frowned.

After explaining what a cannonball is, and after she started babbling about surface areas and velocity, he finally led her to the edge of the pool. Parker was wading in front of them, eagerly waiting to judge the competition. "Jump in, jump in," he enthusiastically chanted.

Booth turned around to Brennan and teased her. "Would you like me to go first so you can learn some pointers?"

Parker caught her eye. With his hands, he mimicked pushing someone. Brennan raised her eyebrows in question. Surprisingly, the young boy understood and nodded his head in confirmation. She winked at Parker before placing her hands on Booth's chest and sending him back-first into the water.

His mouth opened wide in surprise milliseconds before he landed in the water. Once he recovered, he looked at her with an evil glint in his eye. She put her hands up and pointed to the child behind him. Parker immediately knew what was going to happen and tried to swim away from his dad, but the eldest Booth was much faster. He caught Parker by his ankle and counted to three before lifting him up and throwing him into the water.

When he floated back to the surface amidst multiple waves from their fight, he giggled. To both adults, the sound was so jovial and free that it made them immensely happy.

"Come on, Bones!"

Without any shame, Brennan got a running start and leaped into the pool. As she was underwater, the Booth boys shared a look. When she popped above the surface, Booth said, "I think we should get her back for pushing me in. Don't you think, Parker?" With the biggest grin on his face, he shook his head in agreement. "Good," Booth agreed. "I know the perfect way."

Before she could understand what was going to happen, Parker started splashing Brennan. Booth dove underwater, using Parker's splashes as a diversion. Without coming up for air, he squeezed her hips. Bubbles floated to the surface of the water from his laughter. She had jumped away from him and practically squealed. Neither Booth thought such a sound was capable of coming from the scientist.

Parker joined in on tickling her, even though his pokes weren't really ticklish. Booth found she was the most sensitive on her sides, and kept squeezing her there. After a while, she was gasping for air and crying for mercy. Satisfied, the boys backed away and gave each other high-fives. "Awesome!" Parker yelled.

"Now we're even," Booth admitted with triumph. Brennan tried to splash him, but he got closer to her and grabbed her arms. "You got me, I got you. Now, we're even."

She looked up at him. With his hair wet, his eyes were even more piercing. His lazy grin and glow from the sun made him look not only completely happy, but especially handsome. He, too, was distracted by her appearance. Small strands of wet hair were stuck to her forehead and her flushed cheeks.

The tension was back. With their bodies so close, and their faces even closer, Booth seriously considered leaning down and kissing her. Right when he got the courage to do so, a huge wave of water hit their faces. They both looked to the left and spotted the laughing, blonde-haired boy. They looked at each other for a moment and made an unspoken agreement. They faced the boy. After a silent count they joined forces and pelted him with a tickle-splash attack.


	21. Understanding and Uninhibited

_**Author's Note:**_ _This one is a tad different. I used two words, because I feel this chapter is a fifty-fifty split (or close to, at least) between the two. The first word fits more for the implications of the episode it is based off of (The Hole in the Heart) and less on the actual chapter. The second definition of 'understanding' is the most important to that point. That being said, the word 'understanding' and the piece are not perfect, one-in-the-same, but they work. The second word relates more to how Brennan reacts. I always found that scene at his apartment raw and loved it for that reason. I like it, so I hope you do too. Thanks for reading._

**_OUTTAKE ALERT: _**_There is an outtake this week! It's been a while, but alas, I have one for you. **ALSO**, **penandra **wrote an "extended ending" to **Ticklish** and so if you want to see where she went with it, which you should because it's awesome, the story ID is: 7381679_

**_Setting:_**_ I say I try to avoid S6 finale/"The Hole in the Heart" fics, but I seem to have written a few. My bad._

**_Warning:_**_ This is more hurt/comfort than dark/angst, but I'm warning you that you're not gonna laugh... Unless you have a twisted mind. It's not as gloomy as "Jaded" was. I see the good and love in the hurt and darker stuff, so I hope you can too. _

**_Last Thing:_**_ (Sorry this is so long). I wrote this chapter months before I not only started writing the series (it was going to be a one-shot), but months before I wrote "Rainy." It's similar in situation, and for that I apologize. I didn't even think about it. _

* * *

><p><strong>Understanding<br>**_To be thoroughly familiar with; to clearly apprehend the character, nature, or subtleties of.  
><em>_To grasp the significance, implications, or importance of._

* * *

><p><strong>Uninhibited<br>**_Expressing one's feelings or thoughts unselfconsciously and without restraint. _

* * *

><p>He has seen her cry. Any other person, and she would normally be able to control her emotions, but with him, she did not feel the need to hide. He is her partner, best friend, and the one <em>she<em> wants to gamble on. He has seen her through her best, and through her worst, and if those times did not scare him away, her breakdown now would not either.

She has cried in his presence in the past. Sometimes she would wipe the tears from her eyes before they finished their descent, occasionally turning her back towards him to hide them altogether. He always hates watching her fingers slide over the planes of her cheeks, the tips barely brushing over her eyelashes. It means she does not want him to see her completely vulnerable, even more so when she will not let him see her at all. When she wipes away her tears, they both know it means she cannot let him in to the extent he craves. It allows her to gain control; while she cannot always stop the tears from forming, at least she can marginally stop them from showing.

Other times, she does not even bother and allows the tears to fall over her cheeks to her jaw, where they drop onto her collarbone. His eyes always follow the tears, watching as they lightly hit her necklaces or stain the collars of her shirts. Each centimeter they fall the more his heart fractures like someone hitting a piece of marble with a carving tool too hard. The crack grows longer and deeper the longer he watches her cry. When he fails to stop her tears, he finds a semblance of peace only in the fact that at least she is letting him further in.

But, it is moments like these, when he brushes away the wetness on her cheeks with his thumb, that they are truly connected. She leans into his touch, relinquishing control. When she sheds her control and gives it to him, it is almost as if she says, _"Please,"_ to which he replies by bringing her into his arms.

"Shh," he whispers into her hair. He can feel wet-heat pool over his heart. "It's okay. I'm here."

Brennan was taking the murder of her intern much harder than he was. He had never grown close to the eccentric Vincent Nigel-Murray, more times than not annoyed by how prone he was to prattle off what Booth considered random facts. She, however, had grown quite fond of Vincent.

Booth had seen the way her eyes lit up when she rambled on about the talk she and her intern were to give. While he did not understand most of her squint-talk, and understood even less of Vincent's, he could clearly understand how important this was to her and the extent of her excitement.

Though his attention was on the injured squint immediately after he was shot, he was very well aware of how she was taking the incident. He is so attuned to her that the tug-of-war for control within her was practically his own. He was as worried for her as he was for the man dying in their presence. This is what she feared, this confirmed everything he had worked so hard to disprove. She was once close with Zack, and was betrayed and upset by his actions. Now, another promising intern who she had just become close with was leaving her.

He tried to keep Vincent alive as much for the intern as he did for Brennan. He was afraid of how Vincent's death would affect her. Making her stay at his place was as much for protection as it was for him to make sure she coped.

On his couch, she felt so alone and cold. Images tainted with blood continuously flashed through her mind, whether her eyes were closed or open. She could still hear Vincent's pleas; they seemed to echo through the silence. A few years back, maybe even a few months back, and she would have wanted to be alone to compartmentalize, but tonight all she wanted was someone who understood, someone who knew all the answers and right things to say.

That is how she ended up in Booth's room. Hysteria was threatening to take over once more, and if she could not contain it, she at least wanted someone to brave it with her.

She immediately felt better when his arms wrapped around her shoulders and he pulled her into him. In the moment, she did not worry about the impact their uncomfortable position would have on the disks of his spine, or that the fear in her eyes might scare him away, too.

During that time, when he held her broken, child-like heart, he knew she was saying, _"I know you will take care of me."_

Her head on his ribcage, she was able to hear the heart that was most important to her. While Vincent Nigel-Murray's heart sustained a hole that killed him, Booth's heart was whole and steadily beating. Stable. Safe. Familiar. Comforting. _Alive_.


	22. Vulnerable

_**Author's Note: ** I want to thank you all for reading, reviewing, following, and adding this to your favorites. Honestly, every time I get a new email I smile an embarrassingly big grin. It all means a lot to me. Thanks anonymous and non-anonymous people! **__Special thanks __**__today____ to **penandra** who gave me this word and a subtle hint to follow Understanding's thread. ___

**_Outtake Alert: _**__There is a happier outtake posted today in "The Outtake in the Adjective." I will have more information for you there on the many upcoming outtakes.__

**__Setting: __**__This fits best after Hannah and Booth were over and Booth wasn't mad anymore, because I need a Brennan that is open to emotions a bit more than she was in the beginning. I personally think this happens before the S6 finale and the episode before it as well. __

__**Hankie Alert...? **Very minor character death, which means ignore spoilers etc. __

* * *

><p><strong>Vulnerable<br>**_Most likely to be exposed to the chance of being attacked, hurt, or harmed, either physically or emotionally._

* * *

><p><em><strong>"<strong>Make everything so simple in a crazy world,  
>And I'm tryna find the words to say,<br>You make everything alright just by being around._**"**__

_- Mmm by Laura Izibor (The song Gemma Arrington sings in the 100th episode)_

* * *

><p>When he didn't call and offer her a ride, as he had been doing of late, she thought nothing of the sudden change. She couldn't always expect him to offer a ride, nor should she.<p>

When she didn't hear from him throughout the duration of the day, she was minimally confused, wondering if she forgot him saying anything about a day off, but she wasn't worried. _He is an adult,_ she reminded herself, _and is fully capable of taking care of himself. We do not need to be in constant communication._ She figured that if they received a case, he'd call.

When he didn't show up for work the next day, or make any efforts to contact her, Brennan was finally slightly concerned. After the rest of the lab returned from their various lunch breaks, she asked around to see if anyone else knew his whereabouts. Hodgins said he didn't know anything, and did not seemed phased by the agent's absence. Angela suggested she check on him if he didn't call anyone by the next day. Once Cam answered that he probably hadn't gotten a new case and therefore had no reason to be around the lab, she was momentarily assuaged.

When she remembered his comment from a session with Sweets about how their relationship would consist purely of coffee without anymore murders, her reassurance wavered. Even when they didn't have a case, he at least asked her to lunch.

When she hadn't heard from him by the third day, she decided to do something about it. She called a few times, but he didn't pick up. Fully worried, she drove to his apartment and banged on the door, calling his name. She was prepared to find him either surprised, in civilian clothes, and taking a few days off, or to find him injured after she was forced to bust open his door.

When he answered in a state of emotional and physical dishevelment, she was taken aback and immediately filled with guilt. She should have called him on the first day, checked in on him well before now. He looked horrible, and that scared her. He was usually the strong, alpha-male, and at the very moment he was anything but.

Then she really looked at him and she noticed the unusual stubble on his face, and how swollen his red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes were. Mixed with his stained, crumpled dress shirt and wrinkled slacks, she deduced that something unfortunate had happened and that he had been crying.

As she started to reach her arms out to embrace him, he stumbled into her and nearly knocked her over. "Booth," she questioned as he collapsed into her.

She heard his muffled answer that sounded close to a denial of her assumed question. Turning him in her arms, she had a hard time examining him for any injuries with his weight and unresponsiveness. Once she was satisfied that he wasn't injured, or overly intoxicated, she helped lead him to the couch. Her thoughts first went to Parker, worried about his wellbeing. Surely something happening to Parker would warrant such a reaction.

Somehow, what to do came naturally. Maybe it was a scientifically explained instinct, or maybe it was the vulnerable man's influence on her. She could count on one hand the number of times she's seen him cry, and seeing him go from mostly composed and tearless to weeping in such a small window of time seemed out of character for him. Yet, so was the the fact that _she_ was comforting _him_ and that she knew how to.

The sides of their bodies were flush as they sat next to each other on the couch. She held him in half of a hug, and he rested his burning, wet cheek on her collarbone, his hot tears pooling on her exposed skin. With his head tucked all the way under her jawline, he had one of his arms wrapped loosely around her waist, the other tangled with hers, their hands crushed together by his grip.

His tears were silent, and not nearly as strong and powerful as the sobs she cried in his SUV during the Lauren Eames case.

She gave him all the time he needed. He wasn't comfortable with being so distraught with her around, but having her there was making him feel better. After what seemed like decades for both partners, he lifted his head from her shoulder. His stained eyes met her clear ones, and all he had to say was, "Pops." She understood.

When he was ready, she would tell him. After he calmed down, she would tell him what she believed would make his respect for his grandfather even deeper. When he was ready, she would listen to everything he had to say. But now, with tears silently falling down his cheeks, she needed to wait.

Tears of her own pricked at her eyes, but she kept them from falling. This was his time to grieve. Right now, he needed her to help him through the loss of his grandfather and the man who raised him. He lay his head back on her shoulder, the tears falling at a less frequent rate. He simply needed to be held. Somehow her arms around him was part of what would help him heal.


	23. Warm

**_Author's Note: _**_I was doing a summer re-watch of the series, which is a long story involving surgery and bed rest, and was on S5 when I working on this one. A line struck me and I wanted to use it. __I also have this weird habit of putting Booth and Brennan in bed together. I've gotten rid of it a few times, but this time I chose not to. What would Sweets say about that?_

**_One-Shot News: _**_I don't like "advertising" my stuff/myself, but I wrote something the other day I'm really excited about that if you're interested in reading, I will be posting (hopefully) tomorrow. It was something that, after I wrote it, I decided I wanted to be separate from the series, including outtakes. _

**_Setting:_**_ Post-"The Change in the Game." Silly me._

**_Disclaimer: _**_Don't own Bones, and therefore don't own the quote. _

* * *

><p><strong>Warm<br>**_Somewhat hotter than temperate; having or producing a comfortable and agreeable degree of heat; moderately hot.  
><em>_Loving; passionate: a warm embrace._

* * *

><p><em>"A baby. I mean, you're linked to that person for the rest of your life. Like way more than if you're married. I mean, you're linked through another human being. A soul."<br>- Angela to Hodgins in "The Proof in the Pudding" _

* * *

><p>The sun shone through the effulgent curtains, gradually heating her skin. The bed enveloped her body, the comforter tangled between her legs. Turning away from the sun, she stretched. She kept her eyes closed, unprepared to rejoin the world quite yet.<p>

Her hand slowly searched the other side of the bed. When she felt his skin under her fingertips, she smiled. Everything was so new, like the sun rising over the horizon. Even though she knew there were unaccounted variables to life, in the moment she was content. There was a warm sensation in her stomach, something she was willing to put aside reason to explain.

_Happiness_, she decided. She was happy.

She propped herself up on an elbow and kissed his exposed shoulder. His skin was warm to the touch and she found herself drawn to him. Before she could rest her head on his back, he turned over and wrapped an arm around her waist.

He blinked a few times, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light. When he finally focused on her face, he was pleased to see her smiling. He tucked her hair behind her ear and left his fingers to linger under the back of her jaw. His small smile met hers before he murmured, "Good morning."

With his words as an invitation, she scooted herself down to rest her head on his chest. Draping an arm and leg over him, she relaxed. He wrapped her in his arms and brought her head to its rightful place—right below his own chin. He didn't feel the need to start any conversation. Instead, he was pleased to simply be in her presence and absorbing her warmth.

They didn't move or talk for a long while. The moment didn't need words to be said for either of them to feel. But lounging in Booth's arms, she felt the need to share her thoughts with him.

Brennan rested her idle hands on his chest. "I find that I'm very happy," she admitted.

"Me too," he answered, equally as quiet.

His hand continued to stroke her back, drawing lazy circles on her shoulder blade. The simplicity of the gesture calmed her. "I am glad that you are the father of our child." After a slight pause, she sighed, "But..." She lifted her head from his heart and looked at him. She worried what she was to say next would hurt him, although that was not her intention. "I'm afraid that you cannot be truly happy unless we are married."

He frowned, his eyebrows furrowed. With his response, she pursed her lips. He raised his hand to her cheek and lightly caressed the soft skin beside her lips. "Don't ever say that."

"Your religion dictates that—"

He shook his head and touched the corner of her lip with his thumb. Once she released her mouth from its hard line, he spoke. "A baby, Bones. We're having a baby. How could that not make me happy?" Before she could reply by saying he didn't address her statement, or actually answer his rhetorical question, he continued. "When you create another life with someone, you're linked to that person for the rest of your lives, even more than through marriage. I mean, you are connected through another human being, through another soul."

His gaze shifted between her eyes before finally really looked at her. "That's enough. If you don't want to get married now or ever, that's fine. All I need is you, Bones. You and me. That's enough." He moved their bodies so they were a little more upright, leaning his back against the headboard.

"Us. Together," she repeated in confirmation.

He rested his forehead on hers. Her eyelashes brushed across his face, and he smiled. "Together."

"For thirty, forty, or fifty years."

With his hand resting on the back of her head, preparing to bring her even closer, he answered, "Exactly."


	24. Xanthous

_**Author's Note:** This chapter gave me the biggest grief when it came to actually choosing the word. There were so many options, I didn't know which to chose! In other words, I had two choices and it wasn't a hard choice. Thanks to **penandra** for giving me a list of yellow items. She saved you from a story where Booth says "You look yellow" and the rest has nothing to do with being yellow. May be a bit OOC... eh. _

**_Sara:_**_ You reviewed anonymously, as have others (thanks!), but I had to reply to you: GO PACKERS! The next few chapters were written in my Aaron Rodgers notebook!_

**_Setting:_**_ There is none! This happens when it happens. So there!_

**_Fact:_**_ The place where Booth gets his pie is a place in Griffith Park called The Trails. The sign reads "Pies - Sodas - Coffee." When I saw that, I just couldn't resist._

* * *

><p><strong>Xanthous<br>**_Yellow or yellowish._

* * *

><p>If he could, he would give her the world. Whatever she wanted would be at her fingertips for the taking. Booth knows that at some point, especially with their tempers, multiple disagreements over decisions and choices would come up, and he was happy to give her this.<p>

She wanted yellow. She wanted daffodils and yellow ribbons. She could have chosen black tablecloths with a putrid puke-green and he would have been happy. After all, he was happy she got to make the decisions in the first place.

She could have wanted everything to take place at the courthouse and he would have been pleased. She could have requested to forego a ceremony altogether and he would have been fine with that, too. Instead, she chose to give him his dream, so however she wanted it was how it would be.

Bright yellow petals were sprinkled over the white walkway. Little bouquets of yellow and white daffodils and vibrant purple grape hyacinths were attached to the end each row with a light yellow ribbon.

His observations were cut short when he saw her. Maybe it was merely the sunlight hitting her skin, but he swore she was glowing. Her hair was twisted up in the back with three small dandelions tucked into it. The combination made her look ethereal.

He couldn't be sure who smiled first, but with their family as his witnesses, he didn't stop smiling the whole night.

* * *

><p>On the morning of their first wedding anniversary, she woke up all alone. She wasn't particularly educated in the etiquette of one's first wedding anniversary, but her gut told her it should not involve waking up alone.<p>

Before opening her eyes, she patted his side of the bed. When her hand roamed over the pillow, her fingers rubbed something unusually smooth and soft. Confused, she opened her eyes. Between her fingers was the petal of a daffodil. When she picked up the stack of flowers, she immediately recognized what the arrangement was: a replicate of her bouquet.

Just beyond it, previously hidden by the flowers, was a note with her name, or rather her nickname, on it. Nothing else was written, even on the inside. Curious, she sat up and looked around his side of the bed for another piece of paper. Instead, she found singular petals in a line that led her out of bed to the bathroom.

Inside was a hot bubble bath and tea. Along the counter and rim of the tub were the heads of daffodils in little cups of water. While she was more curious about where Booth was, she knew him well enough to know he had a plan and that she should abide by it. After her short bath, she wrapped herself in her robe and opened the bathroom door.

There was a new path of petals that wasn't there before, this time with the grape hyacinths. This trail led her to their dinning room table where a small bowl of her favorite cinnamon oatmeal and plate with bread and jam sat amidst the purple flowers. She didn't eat much, more interested in following the trail of the white daffodils.

Those led to her home office where he was waiting. Like when she saw him at their wedding, she smiled and walked into his waiting arms.

* * *

><p>He was going to be gone for a few days. It would be the first time since before they were married that he would go on a trip without her. He had gone on her few book events under the guise of keeping her safe. She hadn't gone on any Christmastime digs or taken trips to ancient places, and he hadn't gone anywhere he couldn't be home for by dinner-time.<p>

Now, he had a training seminar all the way in Los Angeles in the middle of the week he had to attend. She had offered to join him, and he told her that he would love that, but the seminar would take up most of his time.

He had a red eye flight and was planning on leaving without waking her up. As a way of saying goodbye, and that he would miss her, he left a vase of white daffodils on her nightstand for her to see when she woke up.

The second day he was gone, he had Angela give her a vase with the same grape hyacinths. When she called later that night, she had parted by saying, "Thanks for the flowers, Booth."

On the third day, he made Sweets deliver a bundle of dandelions to her at the lab. She was surprised he remembered the small yellow flowers Angela had put in her hair.

On the fourth day, he had Cam help Parker give Brennan a bouquet of pink Camellias and "Forget-Me-Not" flowers before his after-school activity at the Jeffersonian. She called him almost immediately and asked him about the deviation. He quickly told her to google them before he started talking about a café some other agents told him about. He raved about the pie and promised to bring her there someday. "It'll change your whole view on cooked fruit," he claimed. She laughed and told him it was impossible.

On the fifth night, he came home. She was asleep, a book in her hand. Lightly, he moved her hair from her face and put the book on his nightstand. "Bones," he whispered before pressing his lips to her forehead. Slowly, her eyes slid open. He smiled and handed her the awaited yellow daffodil. He had waited to deliver that one in person.

"I missed you," she said, her voice raspy with sleep. She lifted the covers for him to join her. As she wrapped her arms around his waist and lay her head over his heart, she murmured, "I love you," before falling back asleep.


	25. Yielding

**_Author's Note: _**_This is more me yielding to all of the comments about wanting more of a certain something. It's on the same seam as a previous chapter. You could say that instead of the first chapter happening, this one happened. But I'm not gonna tell you what chapter it is. That would spoil it. _

**_Setting: _**_I feel like I shouldn't even say anything. Most of you know the drill by now; mostly irrelevant from when Sweets enters the picture on. Although, I think definitely this happens before the S5 finale, but could very well happen well before that. The other chapter happened later, sometime in S6, and this is S5 or before. Just remember that so you don't say "That doesn't work."_

_Only one more. I cannot believe it. Wow. __Hey... who would win at poker? Booth or Brennan?_

* * *

><p><strong>Yielding<br>**_Giving away under pressure; inclined to give in; submissive; compliant: a timid, yielding man._

* * *

><p>Seeley Booth is a stubborn man by nature. He is willing to argue his point until there is nothing left to say. He doesn't change his thoughts because someone tries to convince him to, even if that certain empirical woman's evidence overwhelms his premises and means he should.<p>

He doesn't give into the jeers fellow agents throw his way about Bones or succumb to that pressure. He doesn't _always_ do everything he should, even thought it would be the right thing to do. Most importantly, he prides himself on not caving in because of guilt or a beautiful, innocent, and occasionally pouty, face.

Well, at least he used to pride himself on that. Now he's not so sure it is something he can claim.

With his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his foot impatiently bouncing, he stole another sideways glance at his partner. When he saw she was looking at him with the same, undeniable look of an innocent child, he quickly looked straight ahead at the young psychologist in disgust.

"Come on, Sweets," he groaned, breaking the unbearable silence. After he had refused the first time, both Brennan and Sweets resigned to silently looking at him, forcing Booth to squirm in his seat.

Sweets, with his big pouty lips and doughy eyes, even when his eyebrows are furrowed, and Bones with her eyebrows raised, long eyelashes blinking—that's what annoys him.

"Please, Booth?" She sounded like a sad child. Booth felt his resolve flee. In a more "Bonesy" fashion, she added, "I believe I will find it quite enlightening to hear what you have to say in response to my selections."

He looked between her and Sweets a few times before yielding to her wish. "Fine. But," he said directly to Sweets, "only because she wants to. _Not_ because you want us to."

Sweets made a steeple with his hands and leaned back in his seat. "Interesting," he remarked.

Booth wanted to shake the "interested" look right off the kid's face, but turned to Brennan instead. Like a pathetic teenager, he muttered, "Let's get this over with."

Brennan made her back even more erect and Booth was able to picture what Brennan was like in high school. "Humerus."

He didn't think at all before replying, "Hillarious."

She quashed her instinct to tell him she meant the bone in the human skeleton's arm. With another attempt at random, pointless words, she said, "The zygomatic arch."

"Fancy," he mocked in a faux-British accent, making it sound like he said "fawn sea." If all she was going to do was name squinty terms, he was not going to leave this session happy.

Brennan looked at him and he knew she was mentally complaining about his answers. He shrugged his eyebrows on purpose to signify that he may or may not be purposefully annoying her. She considered herself too intelligent to play his games and throw out random, purposeless words. If she did, the exercise would have no meaning for her and she wouldn't allow that.

So, instead, she wanted to choose words that had meaning. It was her opportunity to ask or prompt things without having to explain the cause. Booth couldn't ask questions about her choices, and with that knowledge, she dove into a quickly planned list.

She tried to start off easy to allow him to be eased into the more personal and difficult answers, knowing his tendency to overreact or blow answers off. "Airports."

His mind wandered to the day Brennan blackmailed him to let her be his partner after he had airport security detain her. He chuckled before realizing his answer wasn't immediate like Sweets wanted. "Hectic," he lied. Of course, his first thought was her, Bones.

She had expected him to say something about the first day of their partnership. Frowning, she reminded herself that in every experiment there are deviations. Her next choice was one she knew he would have to answer accordingly. "Hot."

He gulped, grateful he was able to stop himself from blurting the first thought. Sweets noticed Booth tense, but with a slight glare from Booth, the younger man remained silent. "Blooded," he answered, instead of "you."

With her next prompt, "Ludicrous," he saw her game. He didn't want to take part in the word association exercise at first, but gave in because of how badly she did. Now, looking at her again, he felt the need to play along.

She was studying his face for any of his tells. He looked relaxed, which reassured her that he would be giving her unscripted, reflex answers. This way, she thought, Booth couldn't hide.

"Fate," he replied, bringing them back to the day they met.

Mentally, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation, his back hunched to signify his ready and alert state. Outwardly, though, he carefully remained composed, unfazed, and completely at ease. Booth knows from being a father when to let the child have their moment even though the parent saw it coming. With Brennan, this was one of those times.

Sweets couldn't discern why Booth answered like Brennan, and when she prompted, "Dancing," and Booth answered with, "Phalanges," he was especially perplexed.

She, however, knew exactly what all of his answers meant. After all, she wouldn't be giving out words if they wouldn't garner the appropriate reply. Something else Sweets wasn't catching on was the reason behind her choices. Brennan wanted to give her partner a hint to her feelings by bringing up all of the milestone and important moments between them.

"Christmas."

He could sense the importance and thought she was putting into it and, for whatever reason, he couldn't deny her this. Maybe he couldn't ever deny her and had just convinced himself he could—he didn't know. But, in this very moment, with that adorably passionate and inquisitive look on her face, he couldn't resist. "Puckish," he admitted, the smallest hint of a grin on his lips.

She smiled back at him, cheeks slightly flushed, and suddenly giving into her was so worth it.


	26. Zealous

_**Author's Note:** Wow. We're really here, at the end. I am still so amazed by the support and following this little brain-child of mine has received. Thank you for all of your kind words. Thank you to everyone, even if you never reviewed, just knowing you were reading is great. All of the favorites and new follower email-alerts mean as much as the reviews do. Every time I got a new email regarding this story, I grinned. I'm so thankful! Thank you for your time and thoughts. __I would **love** to hear what your favorite chapter was, especially if I haven't heard from you before! _

_I knew from the day I planned the first chapter, "Ardent," that I wanted the last chapter to tie into the first and maybe a few others. I hope that's recognized. _

**_Setting:_**_ After the S6 finale "The Change in the Game." Any spoilers are irrelevant because I don't write off of them, and planned/wrote this back before there was news of anything. _

_Thank you again. Who knows, maybe next I'll write about verbs and nouns! Okay, but, in all seriousness, I probably will be doing nouns or verbs next. ~ Natty_

* * *

><p><strong>Zealous<br>**_Full of, characterized, or due to zeal; ardently active and devoted. _

* * *

><p>She loves him. It's not a surprise, even to herself. Her conclusion is doubtless.<p>

There was a time that she didn't know what love was, didn't understand or believe in it. She thought people were foolish to believe in such things as fate, forever, and soul mates. But, now that she is beginning to believe in meaningful reasons, wants a forever, and thinks that maybe there is one person for someone, she no longer things any of it is fictitious. Her change in belief is because of one person: Booth.

He is the one she loves. Expressing her feelings to him and feeling all of these new things have not come naturally to her, but with his help, she's learning, even if she's not telling him enough or showing him the right ways. There are many things she is uncertain of, like whether or not she deserves him or if she's doing anything right, but she _is_ certain of her love for him.

It is like she once told Arastoo—if she knew how to express her emotions, she would, as it seems to make everyone else's lives easier. She doesn't tell him in long, well conceived narratives or verses. In not as many words, she shows him.

Prior to meeting him, love wasn't part of the equation. She was looking for sexual gratification or someone intellectually stimulating. She thought she would be physically compatible with Booth from the beginning, but anything outside of that was unimportant. As time progressed, she realized that because of how fundamentally different they always appeared to be, there was no way they could work in a relationship.

Then she realized just how wrong she had been. Booth was perfect for her because he balanced out her every fault. He was constantly teaching her and helping her become a better her, instead of becoming more like him. Suddenly she didn't want just sex like she did when they first met. Now she wanted the something more he had always found so important. In every way that she is wrong for him, and him for her, they are perfect for each other, and she loves that it makes them who they are.

She loves him because he feels. Part of her envies his ability to decide things in a way she usually deems irrational and illogical, because she finds that even when she wants to she cannot. She loves his easy decision making and that he can help her make the right decisions based on his feeling. His "gut instincts" during a case are crucial, and his people reading skills are remarkable. She wants that, too, but has realized that her brain is in overdrive, not her heart or gut.

She loves his fire. Sometimes his passion drives him to anger and unprofessional outbursts, but they show that he really, deeply cares. She respects him for how much everything means to him, whether it be justice, his son, or asking how someone is doing. She enjoys watching him and Parker interact the most. She can tell by how much he worries and cares about every aspect of his life that he loves him more than anything. She wants that for their child as well.

She loves him because he is fun. Before him, she did research and read or wrote for scholarly journals during her down time. With him in her life, she laughs and enjoys herself more. When they left the bar without paying the tab, she was enjoying her self so much and laughing so hard she was able to overlook the fact that she was taking part in a crime. He can be absolutely goofy, and every time he says or does something comical she wishes she knew how to be like that. She wishes she can give him the amount of happiness and laughter he provides her with.

She loves him because of his open heart. He has this heart that never judges her for her short comings or moments when emotions get the best of her. It is what makes her feel so undeserving and unworthy, but she deeply admires his ability to love her even when he shouldn't. His unselfish heart has been crushed and ripped open so many times, yet he always gave her chances. He's resilient, even though he has to get through brokenness to get there. His heart is her example, teaches her how to properly love.

_He loves her._ Even though she took so long and hurt him so badly, he loves her. She is not sure she could ever doubt it, as he constantly reminds her. Sometimes he shows her by abstaining from coffee or pushing his plate of fries towards her without a word. Other times he tells her, explaining how much she means to him.

It's written in his smile. The way he looks at her sometimes, whether in public or in the privacy of an apartment, somehow tells her how much he loves her.

His love is evident in the way he takes care of her. She doesn't like being treated like a child or some breakable object, but when he tries to keep her from galavanting around in dangerous situations she knows it is not for a lack of love. Now, carrying their child, he looks out for her even more but somehow it feels different, feels warmer and more loving.

When she heard him slide his card and walk up the platform's steps, she relaxed. Running through all of the things she loves about him, she turned to face him and could not help but grin. Somehow she felt so happy within the moment that she felt lightheaded and overwhelmed.

He broke one of their rules by standing close to her, suggesting they are no longer simply coworkers, but so did she by practically leaning into him after he pressed his lips into her hair.

Wishing to be with him without the pressure of others watching, she looked up at him and requested, "Take me home?"

He smiled and nodded, turning her in his arms and leading her out of the lab. _He loves me_, she thought, amazed by the fact after everything they have gone through. _And I love him._

* * *

><p>He loves her. Without a doubt, he knows he loves her. He feels it in his heart, and he feels it in his gut. His love feels natural, as if loving her was what he was designed to do.<p>

He loves waking up next to her in the morning and falling asleep with her at the end of every day. He loves their wordless conversations from across the room and their intense understanding of each other. He loves being with her as she constantly surprises him and makes him laugh.

Sure, he loved Rebecca, Tessa, and Hannah, but they are not, and never could be, Bones. They are blonde and look good next to him; they're the definition of the American dream, or at least look it. Brennan is none of that. He loved them for what they represented, for how they fit into some ideal picture frame he constructed, but he loves Brennan for who she is.

Before her, he never thought he needed someone who challenged him. Booth honestly saw no way he could love someone who, on principle, seems so different from himself.

But, he loves her because she's logical. Her extreme rationality frustrates him from time to time, but it also shows how much she cares. By putting so much thought into something, Booth sees how badly it means she wants everything to work out, and to its greatest proficiency. Sometimes he wishes he thought things out more than impulsively choosing something.

He loves her passion. It's always clear how much she loves her job, and how hard she tries in every case. He admires her perseverance, how even when she's down and defeated she doesn't give up. From experience, he knows how hard it can be to get back up and try again, but somehow she always does. She is dedicated, and he is not afraid of things between them ending for a lack of trying.

He loves her excitement. Over the smallest of things, her face lights up and she exuberates pure joy. Her excitement is inspiring, makes him want to learn everything about what inspires her so he can share what she's feeling, too.

He loves her heart. She claims it isn't open and forgiving, but he knows differently. She has this ability to love that she doesn't even understand, but Booth sees. He has messed up so many times, hurt her more times than he is comfortable with, but somehow she opened herself back up to him. Knowing how she tends to shut down, Booth really admires her trust in him, as unwarranted as it may be.

_She loves him_. Sometimes, even now, he cannot believe it. A lot of people call her cold. She feels, sometimes deeper than he does, but doesn't allow her emotions to guide her.

She doesn't express her feelings as often as others do, and so she doesn't always plain-out state her feelings to him very often, making the times that she does even more meaningful. Between when the statement is warranted and the moments when the reasons are known only to her, it is the seemingly random times that touch his heart.

For him, it's the little things; the little hints at how deeply she's really feeling in a moment. It's the prolonged glance at him from across a room. Their eyes meet and he can tell what she's feeling or thinking before she blinks a single time.

It is clear in the way she lays her hand on his forearm in a moment of his distress. The fact that she knows his feelings, even sometimes that she reciprocates them, comforts him, that she knows how to do so tells him more about the depth of her feelings than she could verbalize.

Her love is evident in the way her hands brush his own as they walk together. In professional settings, it tells him she wishes she could slide her fingers between his, that she's thinking of him—of them.

The way her head rests on his shoulder when they sit together shows him. She nestles her head as close as she can get and sighs. He knows that her display of comfort shows how far they've come and how open she can now be with him.

Her feelings shine through when she rolls on top of him and smirks. When her lips meet his, he just knows. She doesn't have to say anything, and she usually doesn't, but for him, her actions speak.

She shows him. Words can fall deaf onto ears, can lose their meaning after being repeated so many times. She loves him more than words can explain, sometimes with more passion and intensity than she even understands. So, she lays out pictures, provides him with action-based examples of how much she loves him. And that's enough.

Walking up the stairs of the platform, he thought all of those things. He slid his card that alerted her of his presence. When she turned around to face him and smiled, his chest swelled; his heart actually ached.

Grateful she wasn't standing over a gross set of remains with bones that foamed or glowed from a potentially radioactive situation, he broke one of their cardinal rules. With his arm resting on her back, both facing the clean skeleton, he kissed the crown of her head. In return, she leaned closer to him.

Looking up at him from under his lashes, she requested that he taker her home.

His lips parted, touched by her simple statement, and he nodded. _She loves me_, he thought, still as astounded as he was at first. _And I love her._


	27. Authors Note About Noun Story

**_Author's Note**:**_**_ I'm sorry, I absolutely hate doing this (and actually never have), but I figured this was the best way. When I ended this story I said that I'd be writing Nouns or Verbs next. Well, I did, and so I wanted to let you all know, especially since a few of you had been asking. My new story "Love and Twenty-Six Nouns" is now up on the site! Story ID: 7514248. Feel free to check it out, or not because nobody is holding you at gun point! Okay, that's the end of my very shameful advertisement. Thank you again for all the support on this story! I can only hope to receive half of that for the next! And a huge sorry to those of you who thought this might be another chapter, but hey! I DO have another chapter for you, technically! ~ Natty_


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